What the future holds
by Geraldine
Summary: Sam resigns from his DCD job. And it's just the beginning.
1. Prologue

Title : What the future holds  
  
Author : Géraldine  
  
E-mail : lazy.gege@ibelgique.com   
  
Category : AU, drama, and oh, yes, there will be some H/C and some angst...  
  
Characters : Sam, Ainsley, Josh, Toby, CJ  
  
Rating : PG  
  
Summary : I hate summaries... Let's just say that Sam resigns from his DCD job. And it's just the beginning.   
  
Disclaimer: They belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, NBC, Warner Brothers, and I hope I haven't forgotten anyone. So obviously, they don't belong to me. I'm not making money for this story, I just have too much free time on my hands. So I'm begging : don't sue.  
  
Spoilers : To be sure, seasons one to four  
  
Feed back : Please  
  
Notes : Goes AU around the middle of season 3 - somewhere between "100 000 airplanes" and "Hartsfield's landing"  
  
WARNING... Just so you know... there will be a character death down the line - and no, I didn't kill Sam.   
  
Acknowledgements :   
  
Several people helped me with this, and earned my eternal gratitude.  
  
Staili was the first person to read the story, and offered me advice and encouragement. I probably wouldn't have gathered the guts to post this fic if she hadn't been so supportive.  
  
Emily beta'd the story and made sure I said what I wanted to say. If there are still mistakes, they're my own fault - I don't always listen to my betas, even though I know I should.  
  
Coupdepam helped me decide on a title - I'd still be scratching my head without her.  
  
*****  
  
WHAT THE FUTURE HOLDS  
  
Géraldine  
  
*****  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
January 2023, White House  
  
Sam was watching the party around him, smiling to his friends, nodding to people, and trying to pinpoint the exact moment when it had started - the moment that had changed his life, the moment that had triggered the chain of events that had led him to this place, at this time.  
  
Was it when Josh had stood at the doorstep of a conference room, dripping water on the carpet, wearing the biggest smile he'd ever seen on his face?  
  
Was it during President Bartlet's first Inauguration?  
  
Was it when Ainsley had kicked his ass on Capitol Beat?  
  
Maybe it was when the Governor of California had asked him to join his campaign team.  
  
Maybe it was when Toby had talked to him, shortly after Ben's funeral, to ask him to run for President. "Too soon," Sam had answered. "Maybe next time. Let me, I don't know, get used to the idea."  
  
Toby had left disappointed, but knowing that Sam would think about it.  
  
The people of California had elected him again as their Governor, and he had had four more years to think about it. To get used to the idea.  
  
He wasn't sure that that conversation had been the starting point, though.  
  
Maybe it was the first time he had said "My name is Samuel Seaborn and I accept your nomination for the Presidency of the United States."  
  
And now, eight years later, here they all were, saying goodbye to the White House. Again.   
  
Sam wasn't worried about the young members of the team - they'd survive, follow their path, do some good, make mistakes, just like Sam and the others had done.  
  
It was the 'old guard' he was worried about. Toby, CJ, himself.   
  
They were the ones it was killing.  
  
The young would be back soon enough, but it was the last time his friends and he would be here, he was almost sure of it.  
  
President Young had already told him he would be looking for his advice, but Sam knew there would be little he could teach him - just like Bartlet hadn't been able to help him all that much when he had been sworn in. Charlie would have to find his own way, just like Sam had done.  
  
And tomorrow, he'd be a regular citizen again, taking care of his kids, writing his memoirs... God, when had he become a stereotype, he wondered.  
  
Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot he could do after... that. He was the President, he was going to have a hard time topping that up.   
  
But that was for tomorrow. Now, he was watching his staff say goodbye to each other. Again.  
  
CJ appeared behind him, seemingly out of nowhere.  
  
She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. "We still have tonight, right?" she asked.  
  
"We do," he answered. "We do." 


	2. Chapter One : A New Beginning Part 1

CHAPTER ONE : A NEW BEGINNING  
  
PART ONE  
  
2006, New Hampshire  
  
"Do you think he'll be there?"  
  
Ainsley sighed. She loved Sam, she did, but he tended to be tiresome when he was anxious, and he had been anxious for days now.  
  
They were on the road to Bartlet's farm, for a gathering of the former senior staff, the first 'post-administration reunion', as Donna had put it. Technically, the President still had to clear up his office, but the transition was well-advanced now. From what Toby had said, they felt gone already, even though they were still officially working there.   
  
Abbey had called Sam and Ainsley to ask if they would be able to make it. It was a tight thing - Sam had just been elected Governor, and they were busy with a transition of their own. On the other hand, they would be even busier in a few weeks, and she knew that Sam missed his colleagues.  
  
She also knew he had... insecurities about what they thought of him - the circumstances surrounding his leaving hadn't been ideal, to say the least. She hoped this reunion would help him work on that.  
  
Keeping her eyes on the deserted road, she answered, "You heard what Abbey said. You know as much as I do."  
  
"I know, it's just..."  
  
...that he was nervous at the idea of seeing them again, yes, she knew that. A lot had happened in the last four years. They had all changed, and it would probably make for a weird reunion. She hoped the weirdness wouldn't last, though. They deserved some good time between friends.  
  
"Here we are," she said, as the farm appeared, and she maneuvered to park her car beside the other ones. Jed was already walking towards them, smiling widely.  
  
Ainsley shot a look to Sam, and he looked back at her, uncertain.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
He nodded. "Let's go," he said, extricating himself from his seat.  
  
************  
  
President Bartlet (Jed, Sam tried to correct mentally, but it didn't ring quite right) hugged him fiercely, whispering "God, I'm happy to see you."  
  
"Thank you, sir." He smiled. Then grimaced as the President eyed him tersely.  
  
"You'll have to lose that habit, Governor," Bartlet said.  
  
"Yes... Jed," he forced out. You obviously didn't shake off years of conditioned answers easily, he reflected.   
  
Jed accepted his attempt, nodding softly. "We'll work on that. You look good."  
  
Sam smiled. "So do you, si - Jed."  
  
Jed shook his head with a look of reproof, turned to Ainsley and took her in his arms.  
  
Sam almost laughed at the face his wife pulled, horribly intimidated. He didn't, though, because she had ways to exact revenge and he didn't want to bring her wrath upon him.  
  
"Thank you, sir," she said.  
  
"Try again," Jed said.  
  
"Thank you, Jed."  
  
"Better," he said. "I'll teach you, you'll see."  
  
They both nodded politely. Sam had the feeling that it was going to take time before any of them could address Bartlet as "Jed" but he didn't doubt that the President would try to convert them.  
  
"Where's Alex?" Jed asked.  
  
"We left him with Mom, he caught a bad cold," Sam said. "He was a little too weak to travel yet. And believe me when I say that we'll hear about it until the end of time."  
  
Jed smiled benevolently. "I'm sure. If he talks as much as the two of you do..."  
  
"Ainsley claims he's worse, actually," Sam said, shooting an indignant look at his wife.  
  
"He is," she said, nodding seriously.   
  
Sam opened his mouth to answer, but Josh was rushing to them. "Guys! How are you doing?"  
  
Sam smiled despite himself, feeling a little more relaxed. He and Josh hadn't talked much in the past few months, but Josh seemed genuinely happy to see them, too.   
  
His apprehension began to diminish.  
  
A little.  
  
**********  
  
Once everyone was settled in the living room, a drink in one hand, a sandwich in the other ("You all need to eat more," the First Lady had said firmly, and no one had had the guts to argue), the discussion began rolling, with an update on both friends long gone, and everyone's projects.  
  
"So Sam is now governor," Josh said.  
  
Sam shot him a dire look. "I haven't been sworn in yet," he said. "So, please, no tempting fate."  
  
Toby gave a wicked smile. "I see someone finally decided to listen to that piece of advice," he said, looking very pleased with himself.  
  
"Toby will work on New York's Mayor team," Josh went on, ignoring Toby's comments.  
  
Sam, feeling his friend was up to something, looked curiously at Toby, who shrugged. Josh hadn't told anyone what he was going to do yet. He had joked that it was a secret, that they would learn soon enough, that it was big, that it would be worth the wait.  
  
If the smile Josh was wearing right now was any indication, it seemed like the time had come.  
  
"And you'll be doing...?" Sam asked.   
  
"CJ has been hired as a PR consultant by, who was it already?" Josh asked, ignoring him.  
  
"The Minority Leader, Josh," CJ answered in a long suffering tone. "And you didn't answer Sam."  
  
"Yes, I wanted to make an impression."  
  
"We're all waiting Joshua," Bartlet said.  
  
"See, it's kind of big for me."   
  
"I'm still the President," Bartlet added. "I can still fire you. Technically."  
  
"I've been approached by - "  
  
"Will you spill it while we're still alive, or what?" Ainsley asked, exasperated.  
  
"Well, if you'd let me talk..."  
  
"Go ahead," Toby growled.  
  
"I'm going to be working for the Minority Leader. As his chief of staff," Josh finally said, and the silence that followed was broken by CJ, asking "So that means that I'll be working..."  
  
"For me, again, yes," he said brightly, and Sam almost laughed at CJ's face - a mixture of joy, annoyance, horror, and a few emotions he couldn't quite identify.  
  
He was glad for his friend. This kind of job would give him a lot of power, possibly even more than he had at the White House. He would be at the heart of the fight, and that kind of place suited him well.  
  
"Why the secret?" Toby asked.  
  
"Because for years, I've heard nothing but, 'You can't keep secrets', and I wanted to get back at you."  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow. "And was it worth the suffering you endured, not being able to tell us?" he asked sarcastically.  
  
Josh shrugged. "Well, it would have been if someone had, you know, congratulated me."  
  
Sam laughed. "As if you didn't know... Congratulations," he said, sincerely.  
  
After a few more rounds of congratulations, the conversation resumed. Sam told the others that he had heard from Cathy. She was now working in a law firm, in New York. No, not Gage Whitney. She was engaged. Yes, she seemed happy.   
  
"Speaking of which," Leo said, and everyone turned to him expectantly. The chief of staff had already announced that he would retire from politics, and possibly go back to Boston. His roots were there, he said, and he wanted to go back to his hometown. Besides, Mallory had moved there, and he wanted to be close to her. "Mallory called me a few days ago. She's getting married, next June."  
  
Sam didn't miss the way the mood subtly changed in the room - nor the way his friends shot him quick glances before looking away. He met Ainsley's glance, and rolled his eyes, to show her that he wasn't totally oblivious to that little game. It was a bittersweet moment, he thought, as the news concerning people who had once belonged to your life often is. Especially when you weren't even sure under what category you should classify the relationship you had shared with them.  
  
"A few days ago!" Bartlet roared. "Why wasn't I told earlier that my niece was going to get married?"  
  
"Because I needed time to swallow the fact that I don't even know my future in-law," Leo growled, in his 'don't ask' voice, and everyone proceeded to tease him and his overprotective father tendencies.  
  
"Hey, look at the bright side, it's not me," Sam joked.  
  
Leo muttered to him "Wouldn't have been that bad," softly enough that most of the people in the room didn't hear it.   
  
Sam smiled at Leo, to show him he appreciated it. Leo nodded back, not adding anything.  
  
Sam leaned back on the couch, carefully stretching out his leg. It was beginning to protest - probably a consequence of the long hours spent in the plane, then the car.  
  
He was relieved that no one seemed to harbor hard feelings towards him. Of course, he had seen them over the last years. Of course, lots of water had gone under the bridge. Yet, he had been nervous.  
  
* Slightly * nervous.   
  
**********  
  
2002  
  
In the years following his resignation, many people had asked Sam why he had left the administration.  
  
He would often answer that it had been a long-thought-out decision, which was true. He also said that it had nothing to do with burn out, which was only half true, and that he couldn't even remember when he had come to the decision, which was a complete lie.  
  
It had been after a speech. Toby had been busy elsewhere, and Sam had written it all by himself, then modified it according to Bruno's remarks, then rewritten it according to the President's demands, then rewritten it because he didn't like it.  
  
It felt flat, lifeless.  
  
He strung words together, they formed coherent sentences, which formed coherent paragraphs, which formed a coherent speech, and yet, Sam couldn't breathe life into the speech.  
  
The President had delivered it as it was, because there was no time to rewrite the whole thing again.  
  
Sam had been in the room, and he hadn't blamed the audience when they hadn't risen to their feet at the end.  
  
Toby hadn't said anything to him. CJ had shot him a vague, "You'll get it next time." Bruno had fumed at him for half an hour, saying that it was bad writing, only leaving after realizing that Sam already knew all that and didn't need to be reminded of it.  
  
The speech wasn't the only reason he left, of course. The fact that the President had lied to him had played a role too. The fact that he had lost his voice on the staff had also factored in his decision. The fact that his friendship with Josh was now a painful memory had played a part. The realization that he was losing himself, that he was beginning to hate his job, that he was beginning to lose even the will to move on had been crucial too.  
  
The speech was just the last straw.  
  
When he got back home that night, he knew he was going to leave. Not the next day, of course, but soon.  
  
"Why?" Ainsley had asked.  
  
He hadn't really known how to explain it, this fatigue that made every move painful, this feeling that he didn't have anything left to say for Bartlet, this fear of being stuck in a job he wasn't good at anymore.  
  
He needed something new. He needed new challenges. He needed to work for someone who wouldn't disappoint him like the President had. He needed to work with people who wouldn't have been close to him, so that he wouldn't be hurt by their indifference now.  
  
But to the people he barely knew, he didn't say any of that. Just, that he had done all he could for the administration and had been offered a job he couldn't refuse.  
  
He had heard rumors, saying that he had snapped under the pressure, and hadn't done anything to correct them. It wasn't entirely false. But he still found it strange that people could think that he had been too burned out to still work for the President, but didn't think twice of his joining the Governor's team.  
  
He had examined carefully the job offers thrown his way here and there for quite some time before the speech. Each time he felt about to snap, each time he received yet another subpoena, each time he was asked "But didn't you know? How could you not know?" he thought that he had a way out, that if he really wanted to, he could leave.  
  
He didn't, because he didn't want to be seen as the guy who turned his back on his friends. He didn't leave, because he didn't want to * be * the guy who turned his back on his friends.  
  
Besides, some part of him told him that he knew what Bartlet had been trying to do. It didn't stop him from being mad, of course, but he could at least understand the reasons behind the lies. And with time, he knew he would forgive. It had seemed impossible on the night the President had called him into the Oval to tell him everything, but time was beginning to work its magic, and the worst of Sam's reaction was now tempered with understanding.  
  
None of this changed the fact that he had lost his spark. He knew he would forgive Bartlet eventually, but for now he still resented him, and he couldn't work well under those circumstances.  
  
Which hadn't made the decision to leave easier - nor the conversations he had had to have with his bosses.  
  
**********  
  
2002 - Two weeks later   
  
"Is there anything else?" Bartlet asked, and the members of the staff shook their heads. "Good, get to work then."  
  
As the staff left the office, Leo staying behind for a few minutes, Sam lingered near Charlie's desk. Toby shot him a curious look, but CJ was explaining something to him and he didn't stop to ask.  
  
"Can I do something for you?" Charlie asked.  
  
"Yeah, I... will he have a few moments today?"  
  
Charlie frowned a little but didn't ask anything. It was part of his job, Sam reflected - not ask too many questions, be discreet, almost invisible if need be.   
  
"He'll have fifteen minutes in the afternoon, but you know how his schedule can change. Is it urgent?"  
  
Sam pondered that. Was it urgent? Not yet, he supposed, but he needed to talk to the President in the week if he was to accept the job, the Governor had made that clear.  
  
"It's not a life or death matter, but I'd really appreciate five minutes," Sam finally said.  
  
Charlie nodded. "Okay, I'll call you when he's free."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Sam made his way to the communications bullpen, trying to prepare what he would say. He was having trouble grasping the concept : he was resigning.  
  
The letter was typed, printed, signed, and it wasn't like all those letters born from his bitterness last year, the ones that ended by listing all the ways Bartlet had ruined his idealism. No, this one was professional, to-the-point. Real.  
  
Now, he just had to sell it.  
  
He didn't know what to expect, that was unnerving. Would Bartlet try to refuse, try to convince him that he was still needed? Or would he be relieved to see Sam go? He had to have noticed that his speechwriter hadn't been on top of his game recently. Or had he? After all, the State of the Union had been acclaimed by the entire staff. It was just Sam who had hated it. It was just Sam who had tried to revive some of his ideals in it. And failed.  
  
Sighing, he sat down, and got to work.  
  
  
  
**********  
  
Seven hours later  
  
"Sam, Charlie told me you wanted to see me," Bartlet greeted.  
  
Charlie had finally called Sam a few minutes ago, explaining that the day had been busy. Sam expected that, the president was always busy, and he had specified that it wasn't urgent.  
  
It was a decision that would change his life, yes, but it wasn't... urgent.  
  
On the other hand, he would have preferred to talk to the president at a time when he wasn't ready to go back to the residence, tired after a long day, and maybe in a bad mood.  
  
"Thanks for taking the time to see me, sir," he said, trying to make his voice steady.  
  
"Not at all, Sam. Sit down," he said amicably.  
  
Sam sat and the President joined him on the opposite couch.   
  
"So?" Bartlet asked, obviously already on the way home.  
  
"Sir... I've been receiving..."  
  
He stopped and cursed himself for his inability to get on with it.  
  
"Sam?" Bartlet asked, slightly impatient now.  
  
"Sir, the Governor from California offered me a job on his staff," Sam blurted out.  
  
Bartlet eyed him suspiciously. "So?" he asked. "I assume it's not the first time you've had an offer from someone who wants to hire you. Hell, I'd be surprised if you didn't get several offers a day."  
  
"No, it's not. I... I decided to accept it, sir."  
  
There, he'd said it.  
  
Bartlet looked at him for a while, then sighed and rubbed his eyes.  
  
"Sir?" Sam asked.  
  
"I've always known one of you would go eventually..." he said softly.  
  
"Sir?" Sam insisted.  
  
"Is it because of the..." the President gestured vaguely, and Sam shook his head.  
  
"No. Well, not only because of that. I've... Sir, it's no secret I haven't been happy with my job for some time now."  
  
"I could convince you to stay," Bartlet said. "I could order you to stay."  
  
"I'd really rather you didn't, sir," Sam said.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because it wouldn't change my decision. And because I'd resent it."  
  
Bartlet nodded, smiling bitterly. "Why now?" he asked. "I was hoping, now that the censure is out of the way, we would..."  
  
He didn't say 'go back to normal', to Sam's relief. He didn't know if he could have handled that.  
  
"Sir... I don't know how it happened, I think it was probably around the time you disclosed your condition, but... I think no one listens to my advice anymore, and you, and Toby, deserve someone who's able to make his voice heard."  
  
"I listened to you on the State of the Union."  
  
"I agreed with you on the State of the Union. And it's not just... when's the last time anything I said was taken seriously?" Sam asked, hoping his voice wasn't as challenging as his words.  
  
"So that's what it's all about? Why not talk about it and - "  
  
Sam shook his head. "You're free to see it as some case of bruised ego, and I'll admit that there is some of that, but it's not all. Sir, if you don't listen to what I have to say, I don't see the point of keeping me on the payroll. And I'm sorry to point that out, but it's been a while since I've agreed with anything that came out of the Communications Bullpen. You need someone more focussed, someone who will be able to, I don't know... write you convincingly."  
  
"You could stay, and try to take it a little longer. Maybe things will get better."  
  
Sam shook his head, looking at the President in the eyes. He didn't want to stay. He had lost the energy to try to make it better. He had lost the energy to be the voice of dissension. Bartlet had always claimed that he appreciated hearing opposite sides of an issue, but unfortunately, that was all he did now - he heard them, he didn't consider them.   
  
He didn't say it aloud, but Bartlet seemed to hear it anyway, and his face darkened.  
  
"Do you have a letter?" Bartlet asked.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Did you give it to Leo yet?"  
  
Sam shook his head. "I wanted to tell you first."  
  
"Thanks," Bartlet said dryly. "I assume you're taking Ainsley with you?"  
  
Something in the way he said it made Sam bristle, but he simply nodded. "Yes, sir."   
  
"Fine. When do you want to leave?"  
  
"The Governor gave me two months to start work," he said. "I don't know anything besides that."  
  
"Whatever. I'm going to the Residence," Bartlet said, and Sam rose with him.  
  
"Good luck," Bartlet said, not looking at him.  
  
Sam nodded, biting his lips, and left the room, eager to go home.  
  
**********  
  
When he arrived at Ainsley's place that night, he was drained. Ainsley saw the way he entered the apartment and she sighed.  
  
He'd done it, then.  
  
She looked at him while he stared at the couch as if he'd never seen that particular piece of furniture before, and she went to him, took off his coat and guided him to the bedroom, fearing he wouldn't be able to stand up again if he sat on the couch.  
  
He collapsed on the bed bonelessly and she lay down next to him.  
  
"Are you all right?" she asked, and he mumbled something into the pillow.  
  
"What was that?" she asked gently.  
  
"'M fine," he said.  
  
"Did you - "  
  
"I talked to the President."  
  
"How did he..." She trailed off, not knowing how to phrase it.  
  
"He didn't really take it well."  
  
He sighed, and she rubbed a hand on his back comfortingly.  
  
"So we're doing it, then?" she asked rhetorically. "We're moving to California?"  
  
"Mmh."  
  
She smiled. She loved Sam when he was slightly drowsy, trying to bury himself into the bed. She continued to rub his back slightly until his breathing had evened out, and she looked at him for a while.  
  
Their relationship hadn't surprised anyone at the White House. Everyone had seen that the two of them had clicked, in spite of their diverging opinions - or maybe because of them. Most women on the staff complained that they were working with machos, with men who didn't feel comfortable with women who spoke their minds, sometimes vigorously so. In fact, they all knew it was just talk. Most of the men around them enjoyed the discussions they all had. Simply, they were male, and they tended to feel a little embarrassed when they had their asses kicked by a woman.  
  
Ainsley had to admit that Sam wasn't different in that regard. He hadn't taken her beating him on Capitol Beat well, but she knew, and more importantly, he knew, that it was mostly a blow to his ego. It wasn't as if he had resented her, and he was usually big enough to admit it when she had a point, when he had to concede an argument .  
  
She also had to admit that he had always been, well, nice to her. Once he had gotten past his resentment at her having been hired because she had embarrassed him on television, he had made a point of making her feel welcome. Part of it, she knew, was because he didn't want her to think he held grudges. Part of it, he had admitted to her later, was because he hadn't acted like he should have when she had arrived, and that hadn't been professional of him.  
  
Whatever the reason, he had kept an eye on her to make sure she was fine, and she appreciated that.  
  
Shortly after the State of the Union, they had begun to work on a project Leo had assigned to them. Each had argued his case to the death, and they had found out that they made a good team. They challenged each other. They pushed the other to do better. They liked arguing together.  
  
After they had been done, she had noticed he dropped by more and more often, sometimes to ask her what she thought about an issue, sometimes just to chat. Then, one day, he had invited her to the restaurant.  
  
"Are you asking me on a date?" she had asked.  
  
"Looks that way," he had answered, not looking too sure of himself.  
  
"You? And me? On a date?"  
  
"Well, yeah. Unless you don't want to..."  
  
"It's just... you and me?"  
  
He had rolled his eyes then. "Look, I was just asking, if you don't want to go eat, fine."  
  
She had thought, fast. He was cute, he was nice - a little arrogant, yes, but hey, he was a politician - single, and he didn't seem to be the criminal kind. Okay, so he was a democrat, but at least, she knew he would talk about other things than the last movie he had seen, and how hot the women on the last soap opera were.  
  
"Sure, I'll come," she had agreed.  
  
Just in case there was something worth exploring there.  
  
The diner had gone remarkably well, once the initial awkwardness had gone away. They had tacitly stayed away from politics, knowing that a heated debate in the restaurant would inevitably call attention to them, which was the last thing they wanted. They had compared their experiences in law school, agreeing that the last year had been the worst, then of their first jobs in law firms, of the first cases they had tried, of the first they had won.  
  
He had driven her back at her place, and asked her out again. "I've had a great time," he had said.  
  
"Me too."  
  
"Are you free tomorrow?"  
  
She was.  
  
They had dated discreetly for a while, not wanting to draw attention to themselves until they knew for sure what they wanted. Then Sam had brought the topic up. "Look, I think ... I don't know about you, but I'd like to get more serious."  
  
She had frowned a little. Was he talking about sex? They hadn't slept together yet, ignoring the third date rule, and she didn't know how she was supposed to take it.  
  
"If we want to keep seeing each other, I think we should tell CJ," he had added.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because if a journalist asks her if we're a couple, and she doesn't know what to say, she'll kill me. Slowly. She will, she made a vow a while ago."  
  
She smiled, then asked, "Are we a couple?"  
  
"I have no clue what we are. I'd sure love to find out."  
  
They had talked to CJ the next day. The press secretary had rolled her eyes, asked Sam why he couldn't just date a nice girl he'd met outside the building, and he had shrugged a little. "What do you want me to say... Besides, it's not like Bonnie didn't pull up a poll on us."  
  
CJ had looked vaguely uncomfortable, and Sam had laughed softly. "Oh, I see. How much did you lose?"  
  
"None of your business. Okay, I'll deal with the press when they get wind of it."  
  
It had been faster than they had expected, and when the news that they were an item reached their coworkers, they had had to endure their share of jokes and well wishes.  
  
Not that they minded. The people could think what they wanted, they were exploring their relationship and trying to figure out where it was headed. They didn't need to have their lives scrutinized by people who would wonder what they even saw in each other in the first place.   
  
One year later, they had found a way to live together, to keep their professional and personal lives separated - not always easy, granted - and to argue politics while still be happy together.  
  
And now, here they were, about to leave Washington to begin anew elsewhere.   
  
She didn't doubt for a second that they were serious, she didn't doubt that he would make her happy, but sometimes she was frightened to realize that she was going to follow him to the other side of the country. They weren't married, they weren't even engaged. It was a leap of faith for her, following him. She didn't doubt that he sincerely loved her, she didn't doubt that he would propose eventually, but it was still taking a big step.  
  
She had seen this coming, though - he had taken Bartlet's lies awfully badly, especially after the news of his father's infidelity, and the fact that he was being ostracized by the rest of the staff hadn't helped matters. He wasn't happy here anymore. He felt he was losing his inspiration, he felt he was becoming 'rusty' as he had put it. He needed to write in a new voice.  
  
She would miss the White House, but thinking about it, she couldn't imagine staying without him.  
  
Smiling, she came back to the present. She hoped that things would turn out well between them. If they didn't, she'd come back. Or move back to Carolina. Or go work in New York. She had a choice, she reminded herself. She wasn't a desperate woman clinging to her man because she needed a male to reassure her. She was fully independent, thank you very much.   
  
She just didn't like the idea of going to work everyday in the White House, without him. It wouldn't be fun, she decided.  
  
Shaking herself off, she quickly undressed. She was exhausted, and more than ready to join Sam in sleep. Seeing that he was fast asleep, she removed his clothes and crept in next to him, drawing the covers over them both. 


	3. Chapter One : A New Beginning Part 2

PART TWO  
  
March 2002, White House  
  
Sam looked at his colleagues. He had asked them to come to his office during lunch time, so he could talk to them. Now that they were here, he was beginning to wonder how he was going to bring it up.  
  
"So, what did you want?" Josh asked impatiently.  
  
His friend always sounded impatient whenever talking to him these days, Sam thought, feeling slightly depressed, as he usually did whenever Josh brushed him off.  
  
"I... I've resigned," Sam said.  
  
Well, he hadn't meant to beak the news to them quite so brutally, but at least, it was done. He had said it.  
  
The others froze, and looked at him.  
  
"You've what?" Toby asked, the 'I'm sure you didn't say what I think you just said' clearly implied in his tone.  
  
"Resigned," Sam said firmly. "The governor of California offered me a job, and I accepted it. I talked to the President yesterday, I gave the letter to Leo this morning, I'm moving in... I don't know, probably six weeks."  
  
"Why?" Josh asked, sounding honestly surprised.  
  
Toby grimaced, CJ put her hand to her eyes, and Sam shrugged.  
  
"Look, Josh..."  
  
"No, you... You're actually leaving now, in the middle of all this?"  
  
"Of all what, Josh? The State of the Union is done, the MS thing is dealt with, and for God's sake, I'm not gonna miss that opportunity."  
  
"Miss that... what, working for the President isn't enough now?" Josh laughed.  
  
No, it wasn't, it hadn't been for quite some time, but he didn't want to point that out to Josh, of all people.  
  
"Josh, it's done," he said.  
  
"Yeah, I can see that you haven't lost your ability to, you know, throw your life out of the window in a blink," Josh said bitterly.  
  
Sam started, hurt.  
  
He refrained from telling his friend that he had once found his ability to move on without looking back pretty useful. He would have regretted it, he knew.  
  
"Josh," CJ said softly.  
  
Josh looked at all of them, then fled the office, not bothering to close the door behind him.   
  
"He'll apologize," CJ said.  
  
"I doubt it," Sam replied.  
  
"Sam, that was just - "  
  
"Josh being a jerk, yes, I know. I should be used to that by now, but I'm not, so can we move on?"  
  
She bit her lip and nodded.  
  
Toby asked, "What will you be doing?"  
  
"Helping on the campaign. If he's re-elected, I'll be his chief of staff."  
  
"That's great," CJ said sadly, and he nodded his thanks. They were the first to actually ask him what he was leaving for, and it didn't surprise him that they would be the ones to bother. He shook himself as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He was darkening the situation. They all loved him, they were just caught up in their lives, dealing with their own bitterness, trying to survive. They all had a lot to deal with.  
  
"What about Ainsley?" Toby asked.  
  
"I'm going with him, of course," Ainsley said from the door, and Sam grinned at her, under the entertained glances of Toby and CJ.  
  
He always grinned like an idiot when she entered the room, except when he was too tired to actually smile.  
  
"She doesn't think I should be left alone," Sam said, shrugging.  
  
"She's right," CJ smiled.  
  
"No, she's not."  
  
"Who would feed you if she didn't go with you?" CJ teased.  
  
"I'll have you know that of the two of us, I'm the cook!"  
  
Just because he had eaten a lot of takeaway food in the last few years didn't mean he couldn't cook. And it didn't prove his inner inability to take care of himself either. He was a strong, independent man who didn't need a woman to do the dishes or the laundry. His days of turning white shirts to pink were long gone.  
  
He * could * live alone. He just didn't want to anymore.  
  
CJ snickered. "Well, at least, now, we know who's wearing the pants in this relationship."  
  
"As if there was ever any doubt," Ainsley said.  
  
Sam let them joke at his expense. Not that he had much of a choice.   
  
As Ainsley and CJ continued to tease him, he began to smile a little himself. He was immensely happy that she was willing to follow him across the country. He was relieved that she trusted him enough to know that he wouldn't think she was weak for following him.  
  
He tried to convey the message by looking at her that way - the way he looked at her when he wanted to thank her for being her.  
  
She smiled softly, and nodded.  
  
Okay, then.  
  
Now, he just had to pack up his life and cross the country, like he had done when he was eighteen. Except that he would be less scared, and less alone, this time.  
  
**********  
  
Six weeks later  
  
They gathered at the bar - their favorite one, the one where they always went when they wanted to get seriously plastered. CJ and Toby, Donna, Ginger and Bonnie. Ainsley was there too, protesting that she still had stuff to pack.  
  
"Ainsley, we still have tomorrow to do that," Sam pointed out. "It's the last night we'll spend with them in a long time."  
  
She had finally agreed to come, to Sam's relief. He didn't want to be alone to say goodbye to them.  
  
Josh wasn't here. He had a date with Amy, he had claimed. Sam hadn't really expected him to come, but it had still hurt a little. Josh had barely talked to him in the past five weeks, and then only about work. He acted as if Sam had committed the worst sin ever, and after a while, Sam had decided that he'd had it. He knew Josh, he knew that one day, his friend would wake up and realize that he had been wrong. In the meantime, he didn't have the time to try and convince him that his resignation wasn't a personal attack.  
  
"Are you sure you're okay?" Donna asked worriedly, dragging him back to the present.  
  
"Sure," he said. The young woman had tried to ensure that he was okay with the 'Josh situation', and he didn't know what more he could do to convince her that he was fine. "Donna, we've been at odds for quite some time now. He wants to be an ass, that's his right, but frankly, I'm tired of it."  
  
"I know," she said, and he smiled. He knew Donna had tried to talk some sense into Josh recently, and that it had created tensions between them.   
  
"Thanks for trying anyway," he told her gently.  
  
"You're welcome. He'll change his mind. He'll see the light, he'll be sorry for the way he treated his friends, and that day, we'll all kick his butt for not listening to us," she said.  
  
"Yeah, and there'll be groveling involved."  
  
"Definitely."  
  
They looked at each other, laughed a little. "So, what will you do to him to make him pay?" he asked, and she laughed some more.  
  
Josh had changed a lot in the past few months, as they all had, and most of the changes in him weren't for the best. He had become an arrogant son of a bitch (okay, he'd always been arrogant, but not to the point of shouting down absolutely everyone who tried to argue differently than he did), he had become so focused on scoring points that he didn't even choose his battles anymore, and most importantly, he had become unfriendly with everyone, except maybe Donna before she began defending Sam's right to go on with his life.  
  
They were all hoping that he would revert back to what he was at the beginning of the administration. The sooner the better.  
  
Donna grabbed his arm. "Hey, it's your last night in town, let's have fun," she said gently.  
  
His stomach constricted a little. He was more nervous than he liked to admit - he was leaving a high-profile job to join an uncertain campaign, and even if that kind of decision had brought him success before, there was no telling what would happen this time.  
  
He was going to have to meet new colleagues - and maybe, hopefully, new friends.  
  
He was going to miss the ones he had here a lot.  
  
But Donna was right. Tonight was a time to party.  
  
**********  
  
One hour later, everyone was well on his way to drunkenness. The assistants were giggling like schoolgirls, telling (once again) the tale of Sam falling from his boat. All the women were laughing hard, and Toby was trying to hide a smile in his beer.  
  
"Okay, I'm gonna need more alcohol to hear you all ridicule me through the night," Sam finally said, eager to flee the scene. "Anybody want anything?"  
  
They all did, and CJ seemed to take pity on him and offered to help him. As they made their way to the bar, he asked, "Afraid I'll drop the drinks, Ceej?"  
  
"Well, given your legendary sense of equilibrium," she winked.  
  
"Oh, come on, there was a heavy swell, the boat was pitching," he tried to protest again.  
  
"Yes, but it was still pretty funny," she said.  
  
"Whatever," he sighed. "And how come no one ever laughs at your, how shall I put it... habit, of falling into pools?"  
  
She shrugged. "I'm me, you're, well, you."  
  
He nodded. "Yeah, that explains everything," he admitted.   
  
She shook her head, and turned serious. "Are you okay?" she asked. "It has to be difficult."  
  
"Seeing everyone mock me?"  
  
"No, leaving."  
  
"We all thought about it, more than once, especially in the last months," he pointed out.  
  
"Yes. But you're the first one to go through with it."  
  
"I know. I... It's a little scary. It's a big step to the unknown there, and I'll have responsibilities I didn't have here, and... I'm gonna live near my parents again."  
  
That was a point he tried to avoid thinking about. His parents who were deep into the divorce procedures. His parents who didn't look at each other anymore.  
  
His parents who had asked him to choose between them.  
  
He resented them for the situation they had put him in. He understood why his mother had this attitude, but it hadn't made it any easier to bear.  
  
"Sam?" CJ asked, concerned.  
  
"It's fine," he smiled. "They just... I spend my time listening to them tearing the other apart, and it hurts."  
  
She nodded. "I'm sorry about that."  
  
He shrugged. "It's not really your fault, you know."  
  
She looked at him carefully. "Not really?"  
  
"Not really," he confirmed.  
  
"Thank you so much for absolving me," she laughed.  
  
"I'm a magnanimous kind of guy."  
  
"That you are," she said thoughtfully. "That you are. And how come you can still say magnanimous after what you've already had to drink?"  
  
"I'm also a real man, one who can hold his liquor very well."  
  
"Whatever you say, Spanky."  
  
**********  
  
Two hours later, Ainsley's place  
  
Toby was shifting from foot to foot, seeming horribly embarrassed. They were at Ainsley's doorstep, she had gone in, to finish packing, and to let them say goodbye privately.  
  
"So..." Toby began.  
  
Eloquent, Sam thought. "So..." he answered.   
  
Eloquent too.  
  
"Are you... You'll be ready tomorrow?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm mostly done. I'll help Ainsley, I guess. I'm sorry we couldn't find anyone to do my job before I left, it's not going to make it easier. For you, I mean."  
  
"Oh, we'll find someone eventually."  
  
'If you don't scare them all before they gather the guts to apply,' Sam thought, but chose not to say.  
  
His boss had almost been funny in his attempts to discourage potential candidates. He claimed they weren't good enough, everybody else claimed they just weren't Sam. Sam knew his boss would find someone sooner or later (he hoped, for his sake, that it would be sooner). He just needed time to accept the fact that his deputy wasn't coming back.  
  
"Did you and the President..." Toby began to ask.  
  
Sam bit back a grimace. His relationship with the President had been strained at best since he had told him he was leaving. They had both been polite, but the tension was there, and everyone could see it. More and more, Sam had distanced himself from the meetings, to the point where he had barely seen Bartlet in the last two weeks - he had discussed it with Toby and Leo, and they had agreed that this kind of tension during their meetings wasn't productive for anyone, and they had allowed him to make himself scarce.  
  
The last day, Bartlet had asked him to come into his office, and had thanked him for the work he had done in the administration, and the advice he gave him. "I hope the Governor will appreciate your input as I have, Sam," he said.  
  
"Thank you, sir," Sam had said, shakily.  
  
"Sam... We may not agree anymore, but I hope you know that you'll always be a part of the family."  
  
He knew. He also knew that it would take some time for them to get along again, for the bitterness to fade away.  
  
Coming back to Toby, he smiled a little. "I wouldn't say that we left on good terms, exactly, but I think with time, we should be fine."  
  
Toby nodded. "Good, that's good."  
  
"Toby, I'm not dropping off the face of the world," Sam felt obligated to point out. "I'll be in California. You'll come there eventually. I'll call you guys, I'll write."  
  
"It won't be the same."  
  
Of course it wouldn't. They had worked together for years, often in tense situations, shared motel rooms, done late night writing sessions...   
  
He was going to miss them too.  
  
"I know," he said. "But hey, three years at that job are enough. And God knows I don't have anything against the sun, and the sea, and the beach... I may begin surfing again."  
  
"Oh God," Toby said, mock-seriously, and Sam grinned.  
  
"I'll have you know that I was quite good, once upon a time."  
  
"Did you hit your head? You seem delusional, all of a sudden."  
  
"Very funny," Sam growled.  
  
"You sure?" Toby asked.  
  
"About the funniness?" Sam asked.  
  
"About the leaving."  
  
Sam smiled. "I am."  
  
"Because..."  
  
His boss trailed off, not willing to finish, and Sam nodded. "Toby, it's time for me to move on."  
  
Toby chuckled curtly. "No, it's not."  
  
"When was the last time I had a good idea, Toby? And even when I do, you're not willing to listen to it anymore." His boss was about to argue and he raised a hand to stop him. "I could fight my way back, but I'm not sure it's worth it. Simple truth is, I want to move on before I become completely unable to write for anyone but President Bartlet."  
  
Toby nodded. That he could understand. "Do you think it'll be okay in California?"  
  
Sam smiled. He had listened to a lot of the Governor's speeches, he had familiarized himself with his style, had written less and less for the President, so he could break some of his habits. He had begun writing for the Governor, recently, and had sent a few drafts over to him - to see if they were okay.  
  
The Governor had been pleased with his work, and from what little he knew of the man, he wasn't going to get more praise than that.  
  
"Yeah, it'll be fine," he assured his boss. Former boss. That was going to take some getting used to, Sam thought, before checking his watch.  
  
Wow, 3 A.M. He was never going to be able to get up tomorrow. "Look, I have to go sleep now, or else I won't even be able to drag myself to the airport tomorrow."  
  
Toby nodded. "Yeah, I'll... go home."  
  
The two men stood on the sidewalk again, not talking, each of them waiting for the other to move. After a while, Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh for crying out...," he muttered, and took a step forward to hug Toby, briefly.  
  
He heard Toby chuckle nervously, and he patted him on the arm, before letting him go.  
  
"I'll miss you. And, you know, thank you. For all the time you took to explain to me how I could be better. I'm sure I could keep you here all night if I had to list all you did for me, but I really, really, want to sleep."  
  
Toby smiled and said gruffly, "Yeah, and, hum, same here". He put his hands in his coat pockets, and looked at the ground and Sam laughed a little and opened his building door. As he was about to enter, Toby called him back.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
He turned around, and his boss came to him and hugged him, briefly, then pushed him back and hurried to his car, not looking back again.  
  
Sam swallowed past the lump in his throat and entered his building. "The hardest part is done," he told himself.   
  
**********  
  
California, 2002  
  
Sam began his new work two days after his plane had landed. He and Ainsley had barely had the time to open a few boxes in their apartment. He hadn't even seen his parents yet.  
  
After a meeting with the Governor, where his new boss explained to him what exactly he was going to be doing (simply put, a little of everything, from overlooking the campaign and the strategy to dealing with PR disasters, and quite a lot of speechwriting), he had met with the rest of the staff. They had been, as he had expected, a little guarded with him. He was a stranger here, he knew.  
  
He spent his days reading, familiarizing himself with the polls, the state of the race, their opponent's advantages, and the issues on which they needed to focus their counter-attack. The data he examined were remarkably similar to those he had examined in DC, when he had first begun to take an interest in this election, after he had accepted the Governor's offer. He was well placed, but his opponent had been gaining points recently. Too many points.  
  
Late afternoon that day, he called Ainsley and asked her how her first day had gone - she had been hired in a law firm, and she had had to begin soon, too.  
  
He then gathered the staff - Colleen, the head of communications, Jim, the youngest of the team, speechwriter, Peter, Colleen's assistant, and strategist. They highlighted the points they had going for them, the ones which would cause them to lose points, then how to address their disadvantages. They also oversaw the campaign calendar, planning the Governor's appearances in the following weeks.  
  
It was 2 A.M. when they were done, and Sam felt five years younger. He had always loved campaigns - the sleepless nights, the cold pizzas, the strategizing, the motel rooms and the energy which seemed to physically float in the headquarters.  
  
He got home, and collapsed on the bed next to a sleeping Ainsley, thinking about everything they had to do.  
  
The task was daunting. And challenging.  
  
The Governor wasn't quite the outsider Bartlet had been, but he wasn't the most popular of the contestants either. The people of California seemed to long for change, and it was going to be Sam's job to build an image that would allow them to choose to re-elect the Governor.  
  
An interesting prospect, he thought, drifting to sleep.  
  
**********  
  
A few months later, he was ready to take back everything he had thought about liking campaigns. They were in the Governor's campaign headquarters, waiting for the election to be called, and he felt so nervous he was ready to scream. The rest of the staff was running around, snapping into their phones, a cup of coffee in one hand, a sheet of polling data in the other.  
  
It was close.  
  
Too close for comfort.  
  
In the middle of the chaos, the Governor stood, calmly taking in the surrounding confusion.   
  
"How do you do it?" Sam asked, a little unnerved by the man's cool attitude.  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Be so relaxed."  
  
He smiled. "You think I have a choice? If I begin to panic, they're all going to become clinically insane."  
  
"Or else they would all get a grip and try to calm you down."  
  
"Maybe," he admitted, then gestured to the screen. "Looks like the President is going to be re elected," he said.  
  
"I know," Sam said. He had been following the election, and he had to admit that Bruno hadn't done too bad a job. Bartlet would be re elected, he didn't doubt it. He was having a heated debate with himself, now - to call Washington or not to call?  
  
He had a weekly chat with CJ, and he called Toby from time to time, but would they be happy to hear from him today? After all, he had left during a re election campaign.  
  
"Do you regret leaving?" the Governor asked him. "I may lose today, and he's gonna win."  
  
"I don't," Sam said, his tone firm. "It was time for me to go, and let someone who was still more or less 'fresh' do it."  
  
The governor nodded, and sighed. "When the hell are they going to announce?"  
  
"Do you want to see the speeches?" Sam offered, as a diversion.  
  
"I know them by heart already. I just hope I won't mix them up."  
  
Sam smiled, knowing that it wasn't likely to happen. The Governor was a bit of a control freak with things like that.  
  
Colleen's voice rose above the noise. "Sir, they have the results."  
  
The noise level dropped to zero in the blink of an eye, and Sam looked for Ainsley. She was next to Colleen, in front of the TV set. He walked to her, and they stared at the screen.   
  
"We are now ready to call the California Gubernatorial election for Governor Adams."  
  
The sudden explosion of cheers in the headquarters made him grimace, but then, Ainsley hugged him tightly, and someone put a CD on the player, and when he turned to the Governor, he was smiling so widely his cheeks hurt.  
  
No, he didn't regret leaving Washington. 


	4. Chapter One : A New Beginning Part 3

PART THREE   
  
California, 2003  
  
Sam had bought a ring before he left Washington.  
  
Later, he would wonder why he had waited so long to actually propose to Ainsley. He knew he wasn't afraid of commitment - after all, they already lived together. He wasn't afraid she was going to laugh him off - well, not too much. After all, she had followed him across the country. It wasn't even because of the campaign, although the campaign was a convenient excuse - too much work, uncertain future, and he could only focus on so many things at once. But it wasn't the reason.   
  
The reason he had waited, Sam realized one morning, was that he had been burned before. It was stupid - he and Ainsley loved each other. For all their differences, they shared a vision. They both wanted to do good, they were both willing to argue their cases, and ready to admit that sometimes, they were wrong. The fact that they teased each other about it didn't undermine their sincerity.  
  
But Sam had made lousy choices before. He had asked Lisa to marry him, and it had turned out badly. He had wanted to date Mallory, a woman who didn't trust politicians, who didn't want to become her mother and wasn't willing to take any chances.   
  
What if he was wrong this time?  
  
He had a feeling that Ainsley was the one, but what if he was wrong, like he had been wrong with Lisa?  
  
More importantly, was there a way to know whether he was wrong before they tried?  
  
He thought about it, and concluded that there wasn't.  
  
He had often heard that people always took chances when they fell in love, and he supposed that it was true.  
  
Well, so be it, then, he'd take a chance, he decided.  
  
He went to their place, retrieved the ring from its hiding place, and began to wonder - how was he going to do it? Was he going to screw it up? Was she going to tell him that she needed to think? That he was out of his mind? That she would never, ever, marry him? That he was stupid for obsessing so much? That he didn't obsess enough?   
  
That she loved him, but - ?  
  
That she loved him, period?  
  
**********  
  
Nine months later, Sam was holding her hand - or rather, he was letting her crush his hand - as she was giving birth to their baby.  
  
And as he was on the verge of becoming a father, he was wondering how being a husband had ever made him nervous.   
  
"God, that hurts," she said, through clenched teeth.  
  
He couldn't do much more than whisper that she was doing great, and that it would be over soon.  
  
"Shut up," she told him disgustedly.  
  
He shut up.  
  
**********  
  
This had all been a slight planning misstep, he told everyone.  
  
He had finally asked her if she would marry him, two months after the election. She hadn't laughed. She hadn't smacked him, not even after he'd spilled wine all over her new dress, in a display of clumsiness.   
  
There had been no 'but' after her 'I love you'.  
  
They had 'celebrated' their decision, as Colleen had put it, and two months later, Sam helped Ainsley to her feet, after a bad case of nausea.  
  
"I'm sorry," she had said, leaning on him.  
  
"It's okay," he had answered, wondering if he should ask her. He had finally decided that he needed to know. "You're late," he had said, and it wasn't exactly a question.  
  
"You noticed?"  
  
He had shrugged. "I'm a guy. I'm not blind. Or stupid."  
  
She had sighed. "I guess we should have been a little more careful. But then, we had quite a few things on our minds."  
  
He had almost smiled. "Yeah, I suppose so."  
  
"I have an appointment this afternoon. We'll be sure then."  
  
"You didn't take a test yet?" he had asked.   
  
"No. But I'm never late. Not ever."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Unheard of," she had added.  
  
He had felt strangely relieved that she seemed as nervous as he felt.  
  
She had come back from an appointment, told him that 'it was that', and they had begun to freak.  
  
"We're not married yet."  
  
"I know. The press is going to slam us!"  
  
"I know. Our parents are going to kill us."  
  
"I don't think my parents will mind."  
  
"Well, mine will."  
  
"The Governor is going to kick my ass."  
  
"I know!"  
  
"We should probably calm down now."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Neither of them had pointed out that they weren't ready for this yet. It wasn't as if they could avoid dealing with it.  
  
They had rushed the wedding arrangements, making it smaller and more private than their families had wished, and prepared their place for the arrival of the baby and tried to pick a name.  
  
**********  
  
"This is all your fault," Ainsley hissed after a long contraction.   
  
"It'll be over soon," he tried to soothe her.  
  
"I don't want it over *soon *. I want it over * now *."  
  
"I know."  
  
"No, you don't ! If you knew, you'd be grabbing the baby and getting it out of me."  
  
"Ains - "  
  
"SHUT. UP."  
  
"Okay."  
  
An hour after that, Ainsley was crying as the doctor was saying, for the sake of formality, "Congratulations, it's a boy."   
  
Sam felt his knees go weak.  
  
A son.  
  
They had a son.  
  
Sam had known that this day would come, but he had had trouble grasping the concept. Now, as the doctor put the little bundle in his arms, he could only stare in awe, and wonder what exactly he was going to do with it.  
  
Ainsley laughed softly. "You should see your face," she said tenderly.  
  
He only nodded, not trusting his voice, admiring the baby he held.  
  
Then Ainsley claimed her son, and he sat gingerly on the side of the bed, looking over them both.  
  
**********  
  
Three weeks later, Sam's cousin, Angela, who had agreed to be Alex's godmother, followed Sam onto the apartment balcony, after the Alex's christening - and the party that followed.  
  
Sam was leaning on the railing, watching the town lighting up, enjoying the relative peace now that most of their family and friends had gone home.   
  
"You okay there?" she asked gently.  
  
"Yeah, I'm just exhausted. And a little scared. I could screw this up, and..."  
  
"You won't," she said decisively, and Sam smiled.  
  
She had always been his more vocal cheerleader, ever since they had been kids. She was only a few months older than he was, and they were close - they had grown up together, they had survived their grandparents deaths together, then Angela's parents' divorce, a few ugly break ups, their teen aged years... they knew each other well, and they were good at listening and reassuring the other.  
  
"I mean it," she insisted. "I had overbearing parents, yours were... I know you love them, but - "  
  
"But I want to do better than they did," he admitted, thinking back to his father's absences and his mother's indifference sometimes.   
  
"I know," she said. "I know you, and I know you're probably freaking right now, because it was all so sudden, and you didn't really have a lot of time to prepare. But, you know... you'll do great."  
  
"Thanks," he repeated. A little reassured.  
  
**********  
  
Two weeks later  
  
A few days after the christening, Sam was busy yelling at a journalist on the phone when his assistant poked her head in his office.  
  
"Someone's here to see you," she said.  
  
He waved at her to make his visitor enter, and his mood lifted considerably when he saw Toby come in.  
  
"I'll get back to you on that but... No... Look, I'll call back. Bye," he hung up on the reporter, and rose to hug Toby. "Great to see you," he said softly.  
  
"Congratulations," Toby said. "How are they?"  
  
"Good. Great. Ainsley's tired, and her hormones are rebelling, we haven't have a good night's sleep in I don't know how long, I feel rumpled, and I can't keep my mind on what I'm doing for more than five minutes. So, you know... great."  
  
Toby smiled a little. "Look, the President wants to see the three of you."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Would tonight do? You can drop at the hotel by, I don't know, five? Would that be okay? It won't take long, he wants to see Alex."  
  
"I'll check with Ains. And, you know, my boss."  
  
Toby laughed. "I'm sure he'll say yes, if he doesn't want to have an angry President to deal with."  
  
Sam nodded, and gestured helplessly to his desk.  
  
"I'll go. See you tonight. And Sam?"  
  
He looked at his boss.  
  
"Fatherhood suits you. You've never seemed so..."  
  
"Thanks, Toby," he said, almost sure he was blushing.  
  
His former boss went out and Sam went back to his work, his eyes often drawn to the picture on his desk, a smile on his lips.  
  
**********  
  
Later that day  
  
"I can't believe you did that," CJ said again, smiling at the baby in her arms.  
  
Ainsley, Sam, Alex and the senior staff, minus Josh, were gathered in Bartlet's suite, and Alex had been going from arm to arm for more than fifteen minutes, sleeping, oblivious to all the ruckus he was causing.  
  
"Neither can we," Ainsley said. "Each time I wake up in the morning, I tell myself, 'wow, I have a baby. I'm a mother.' Does it ever get old?"  
  
Leo shook his head. "Wait until he begins skipping school," he warned.  
  
"Don't spoil their fun," Bartlet chastised, looking over CJ's shoulder. "He's beautiful," he added, and Sam felt absurdly glad that none of his colleagues tried to pretend that he looked just like his father. He loved his son, with an intensity nothing had prepared him to, he thought he was perfect, but he knew that he didn't look like either of his parents yet. He looked like a baby. He was tired of people saying that he was the spitting image of one of them. Besides, he hated the expression 'spitting image'.  
  
"Josh wanted to come, but we needed someone in DC," Leo told Sam, just as Bartlet was beginning to tell stories about his girls. Sam looked at him and nodded. He hadn't really expected Josh to come anyway, and he wasn't sure they would have had anything to say to each other.   
  
"How is he?" he asked.  
  
"Fine. Still with Amy. What those two do together, I wonder..."  
  
Sam chuckled, remembering all the times he had thought the same thing.  
  
"Still a pompous jackass," Leo added, "Not that we would have him any other way."  
  
Sam didn't say anything, but not for the first time, he wondered why exactly they couldn't ask for more where Josh was concerned. No one had ever hesitated to tell him when he was being an ass, when he was being arrogant, when he was out of line. Toby and CJ had also been criticized on the attitude they had sometimes. How come Josh wasn't held to the same standards they were? How come no one ever asked him to be a little more... diplomatic, in his dealings with people?  
  
He didn't say any of this to Leo, though. He didn't see the need to launch into this kind of debate now, and both Ainsley and Alex were beginning to look tired. A look from Ainsley confirmed his impression.  
  
It was time for them to go home, he thought, and he smiled. It had taken him a few months to stop thinking of his Washington apartment as home, he realized, but now he never had any hesitation.  
  
Rising, he went to pick up Alex, and began to say goodbye to the others.  
  
**********  
  
2006, Manchester  
  
After two hours of tossing and turning, Sam gave up and got up, careful not to wake Ainsley, still sound asleep. The dampness was making all his old wounds sore, and the dull pain in his leg was driving him insane. He dressed quickly, in whatever he found first (faded blue jeans and a warm, black sweater), and went out of the farm for a walk, hoping it would ease the stiffness that had settled in.  
  
Once he had gone a few meters, he stopped to take in the sight all around him. He had always loved this place. Nothing would ever compare with California to him - the ocean, he needed an ocean nearby to be happy - but this place had its charms too, especially in the morning when all was quiet.  
  
A cough startled him and he turned around. Bartlet was watching him, smiling softly, a few agents in the background, looking as severe as ever.   
  
"Good morning, sir."  
  
"Sam, you don't have to 'sir' me anymore," the President said again.  
  
"Old habits..." he explained. "Besides, you're still the President."  
  
"Not for long," Bartlet said, bitterness creeping into his voice.  
  
Sam could understand why it was there.  
  
The fall of 2006 brought mixed feelings to anyone belonging to their extended family.   
  
On one hand, Ritchie had run again, against Hoynes. The odds had been in the Republican's favor from day one, and everyone who had ever met President Bartlet was horrified at the thought that a bigot who could barely read had his chances at becoming the next President of the United States. But the polls all said the same thing: Bartlet was perceived as arrogant, as confrontational, and as someone who wasn't trusted anymore. There had been too many PR gaffes, too many battles with Congress had been lost, too many occasions to make a difference disregarded. The American people wanted a change, they didn't want someone who had been on Bartlet's side for eight years. The senior staff had given much of their time to help, but it was hopeless and everyone knew it. Hoynes had campaigned on the differences existing between Bartlet and him, but the message hadn't gone through.  
  
The election had been called for Ritchie, and it had been depressing as hell to watch.  
  
Sam's heart went to his colleagues, who had to handle the transition, who had to empty their offices, knowing that their side had lost.  
  
On the other hand, Sam had run for Governor, and won the election - not by much, but won all the same. He wouldn't have made it without Adams' support, he knew that. The outgoing governor was well liked, and his words carried a lot of weight.  
  
"Hoynes will be back," he said, to try and lighten the mood.  
  
"Yes, I suppose so."  
  
Jed gestured for Sam to follow and they walked on silently for a while, circling the house. Sam could tell that Bartlet was watching discretely, worried. He said, "You can ask, you know."  
  
"I didn't mean to - "  
  
"I know you didn't. It's all right."  
  
His limp wasn't usually too noticeable but it had worsened since he'd arrived here. The cold and the wetness. He had already seen Josh and Toby trade worried glances. Sometimes, it felt like nothing had changed. If these two could still play mother hens...  
  
"You're in pain," Bartlet said, not really a question.  
  
"It's more stiff, than painful," Sam explained. "It's usually not that bad. The cold - "  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"It's not your fault it's cold in New Hampshire," he smiled.  
  
"Do you... Are you OK?"  
  
Sam knew he wasn't talking about just his leg anymore.  
  
"I'm... better. Kind of."  
  
Except for the nightmares where he found himself unable to save Alex from another car accident. Or from a fire. Or from drowning. Or from... anything his brain insisted on bringing up.   
  
"Good," Bartlet said, not sounding convinced.  
  
They walked on silently for a minute, then Jed suddenly stopped and turned to Sam. "I wanted to tell you... I wanted you to stay. I wanted your idealism at my disposal. I wanted your passion. It was unfair to you, you had a career to worry about, I know, I just... I'm just a man, Sam." He smiled, raised a hand to prevent Sam from talking yet, and added, "I wanted the best around me. I can be, to quote my wife, a bull headed son-of-a-bitch sometimes, I'll admit that. I was wrong to refuse to listen to your advice, even though you weren't always right, and I was wrong to avoid you in the last weeks. I just wanted to say that."  
  
Sam nodded, not trusting his voice.  
  
They moved back to the house, and Sam tried not to grimace when the pinching reappeared in his back.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
He smiled, aware that he was probably deathly pale.  
  
He hated this.  
  
"I'm fine, sir."  
  
Bartlet just looked at him, an eyebrow raised, and he amended, "Nothing a painkiller won't cure."  
  
Except he had no intention of taking one.  
  
He sighed.   
  
He really hated this.  
  
**********  
  
2004, California  
  
The only thing Sam remembered from the accident was that he had tried to get to Alex. His son was on the backseat, strapped into the babyseat, and that's probably what had saved his life.  
  
When Sam woke up in the car, he heard his son shouting. He tried to move his head, but the pain that shot through his skull made him scream, and he passed out.  
  
The next time he came to, there was someone next to him, asking him if he was there.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
"Sir, do you hear me?"  
  
Alex began to cry again, and Sam tried to get up, raise his hands, move, do something to help him, but someone was preventing him from moving his head, and the rest of his body didn't seem to want to cooperate.  
  
"Let me..." he pleaded.  
  
"Sir, I really don't think it would be a good idea to move," the voice said calmly.  
  
They didn't understand. His son might be hurt, he had to help him.  
  
"My son," he tried to explain.  
  
"I can see him from where I am, he doesn't seem hurt."  
  
"He's crying," Sam pointed out.  
  
Couldn't this guy see it? Couldn't he tell that it was bad?  
  
"Yes, and quite loudly," the voice said, reassuringly. "If he's strong enough to scream like that, I'm sure it'll be fine."  
  
Sam wasn't so sure.  
  
Then Alex stopped crying, and he fought the hand holding him down some more.  
  
"Let me see," he began, just as Alex began screaming again, definitely unhappy, it seemed.  
  
"Hear him?" the voice asked.  
  
He did. And he didn't like the fact that they wouldn't let him see his son one bit.  
  
He tried to get his legs to move once again. The pain took him completely by surprise - and made him forget everything else.   
  
He heard a scream and everything went black.  
  
For a moment, he still heard Alex's cries, then the noise faded, and the pain with it. 


	5. Chapter Two : Changes Part 1

CHAPTER TWO : CHANGES  
  
PART ONE  
  
2004, California  
  
Ainsley was home, fast asleep on the couch, when the hospital contacted her. She checked the time before picking the phone up, and marveled at the late hour - she had forgotten what it was like to sleep for more than two hours straight. Alex seemed to have inherited his father's bad sleeping habits.  
  
Then, as she said "Hello," she suddenly wondered why Sam wasn't home yet. Was he still at his mother's place?  
  
"Mrs Seaborn?" a female voice asked, and her stomach contracted.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You are Sam Seaborn's wife?" the woman insisted.  
  
Ainsley closed her eyes. "What happened?" she asked.  
  
"Ma'am, your husband was in an accident about ninety minutes ago. He was brought in, along with a baby a few months old - "  
  
"Alex? Alex was with him? How are they?"  
  
"Ma'am, I'm one of the nurses who took care of Mr Seaborn when he came in," the woman explained, her voice calm. Ainsley thought that such a voice had to soothe the patients, and the families she had to call. It didn't work that well with her, though. "He was brought into surgery a few minutes ago, we need you to come as soon as you can."  
  
"Alex?" she asked, her voice imploring.  
  
"He's fine. We're running tests to make sure he doesn't have internal injuries, but we think he'll be fine."  
  
"Okay. I'll... be there," she said, and hung up on the woman without saying goodbye.  
  
She sat in the living room of their apartment, silently praying "Please, let them be okay, let them be okay, let them be okay" for a few minutes. Then she looked at the TV through blurry eyes and realized she had been crying all along. Reaching for a tissue, she tried to think.  
  
The car. She needed to take her car, and go to the hospital, and ask for Sam and her son.  
  
With that plan in mind, she got up and looked for her keys.  
  
**********  
  
Three hours later, she was sitting near Alex's bed, gently rocking the baby, humming softly.  
  
He didn't have anything but a few bruises and cuts.  
  
It was the front of the car that had suffered the most. According to the police, a young man had run a red light - he was busy on his phone and wasn't paying attention to the road, he had told the police. Five cars had been involved in the accident, and there were two fatalities already.  
  
Two people were in surgery right now.  
  
Sam was in surgery right now.  
  
The doctor who had worked on him in the trauma room had talked to her, listing the injuries - dislocated shoulder, concussion, a few torn ligaments in his back, multiple open fractures of the left tibia, five broken ribs, various cuts and bruises. He had also gotten a piece of metal embedded in his left hand.  
  
"We had to cut his wedding band," the doctor had added, almost apologetically. "We needed to see - "  
  
"That's fine," she had said. "Is he... Will he..."  
  
Will he live, she wanted to ask.  
  
"If he survives the surgery, he'll have a good chance."  
  
If.  
  
She was trying very hard not to think about the implications of this ' If '.  
  
She had thought about calling Sam's parents, but had decided to wait until she knew more.  
  
She had also debated whether to call Washington, then had decided that it would only worry them for nothing.  
  
There wasn't anything they could do, there wasn't anything she could do, but wait, and pray.  
  
A nurse startled her when she entered the room. "I'm just checking his vitals," she said gently, moving noiselessly around the room.  
  
Ainsley nodded, and went back to praying - the most useful thing she could think of doing.  
  
**********  
  
Another hour later, she was ready to scream to hear something, anything, about Sam.  
  
Alex was asleep, all she had left to do was drink coffee, and try to keep her mind from imagining all the things that could possibly go wrong during the surgery. The only means to do that she had found was counting the tiles on the floor. She had done so three times, reaching a different number every time, when a nurse entered the room, followed by a middle aged woman in scrubs.  
  
"Mrs Seaborn?" the woman asked.  
  
"How is he?"   
  
"He survived the surgery," the doctor said, and Ainsley felt her heart fall. She hadn't said 'He'll be fine,' she hadn't said 'He'll be out of here in no time,' she had said 'He survived the surgery,' and Ainsley could already feel the 'but' looming on the horizon.  
  
"We're... concerned about his leg," the surgeon added.  
  
"Concerned?"  
  
"The damage was more extensive than we expected. The bone was broken in four places, and the knee was dislocated. We couldn't repair all of the damage yet. He'll need at least another operation, in a few days. Maybe more."  
  
She stared at the doctor, waiting for the rest. There was more, she could tell.  
  
"Even if we do succeed in reducing the fracture, he'll... chances are he won't regain the strength he had. We don't think he'll ever walk normally again," the doctor added.  
  
Ainsley breathed in harshly. He was going to hate that.  
  
"What about the other injuries?" she asked.  
  
"His concussion and the broken ribs will get better with rest. We had to operate on his hand, too, and he'll need time to regain his dexterity, but it'll be okay eventually. His back isn't as badly hurt as we first feared, which is definitely a good thing. He has torn ligaments, but the spine hasn't suffered. He'll need quite a lot of physical therapy, but it shouldn't cause more problems."  
  
"Okay." Ainsley tried to think of something to say but nothing came to mind. She repeated, "Okay," feeling like an idiot. She was usually a lot more talkative than that, what the hell was wrong with her?  
  
"If you want to see him, I'll show you his room," the nurse offered.  
  
Ainsley nodded, then looked at Alex. "Someone will stay with your son, if he wakes up we'll call you. Maybe you should call your family?" she added gently.  
  
"Yes, I... I should warn Sam's parents. I guess. They'll come."  
  
"There'll be a phone upstairs," the nurse assured, and Ainsley nodded. She kissed her son on the forehead before leaving.  
  
**********  
  
When she first saw Sam, she almost cried. He looked bad. He looked worse than bad.  
  
They hadn't taken out the tube that was helping him to breathe yet. He was pale. She had never seen him so pale, not even the last time he had had the flu and he had spent two days begging her to buy him a gun so he could get it over with - making a great show of sounding weak, just so she would sympathize.  
  
The cardiac monitor was beeping regularly, and she smiled at the idea that she knew that rhythm - she often fell asleep on his chest, much to his annoyance, so his heartbeat could lull her to sleep.  
  
His face was covered with small cuts - on his right cheek, on the bridge of his nose, on his neck. There was a small bandage on his forehead, and the doctor had told her that the cut it covered would probably leave a thin scar.  
  
His left hand was heavily bandaged, and she grimaced. The nurse had explained that the metal had cut right through it, and she shivered, imagining it cutting through the skin, breaking the bones. That was going to hurt. It would leave a scar too.  
  
She couldn't see his leg from where she was, and she wasn't eager to.  
  
She sat down next to the bed, taking Sam's good hand in hers, and whispering. "Alex is fine, Sam, he's downstairs. Your Mom will be here soon, too, I just called her."  
  
She went on, talking about the call she had given to her own mother, the day she had had, how Alex was, talking until her throat was hoarse.  
  
**********  
  
One hour later, they had taken the tube out and she was still there.  
  
She was holding Sam's hand, and stroking his hair absently, letting her mind drift off. He would be annoyed with her if he woke up now, she thought. He always hated it when people treated him like a kid, and to him, hair stroking fell into that category. "Why does every woman feel the need to go all motherly on me?" he'd complained once. He had caught a bad cold then, and every single woman of the staff was sending him food, calling to make sure he took his medication, asking him whether he needed something. It was hard to refrain from doing it sometimes. He could look so... well, cute. Another thing he would be annoyed with if he knew she was thinking it.   
  
"You're cute," she whispered, thinking that it worked, sometimes. In movies.  
  
No reaction.  
  
She sighed, not surprised, and began stroking his hair again.  
  
**********  
  
It's the pressure on her fingers that woke her up. She had slumbered a little, and she sat up abruptly when she felt the pressure again. Sam was staring at the ceiling, blinking slowly.  
  
"Sam?" she asked very quietly. The doctor had warned her that he would be disoriented when he woke up, and would probably have the worst headache of his life, so she tried to keep her voice as low as she could.  
  
She heard him whimper when he moved his head to look around.  
  
"Shhhhh," she said, for lack of a more pertinent thing to say.  
  
He turned to her slowly, blinking in the darkened room. A nurse had dimmed the lights, explaining that his head would hurt when he woke up, and that bright light would make it worse. He was looking in her direction, and she knew he couldn't see too well in the darkness but she didn't want to turn on the lights yet.  
  
"Ains?" he rasped.  
  
"Yeah. You're fine," she lied. "You're in a hospital, you're going to be okay."  
  
He frowned slightly. "Why - ?"  
  
"There was an accident."  
  
It didn't seem to remind him of anything and she tried to ask carefully "You don't remember?"  
  
He shook his head slightly and grimaced. "Hurts."  
  
She squeezed his hand tighter and muttered "I'm gonna go call someone."  
  
His grip on her hand strengthened. "Don't go."  
  
She heard the voice of a nurse behind her. "Stay here, I'll be back."  
  
It didn't seem to register with him and she sat back, softly stroking his hand with her thumb. He had fallen back asleep when the nurse returned with more painkillers, and the neurologist.  
  
**********  
  
The second time he woke up, it was morning. The neurologist had managed to wake him again and ask him a few questions, and he had told Ainsley that his memory and his cognitive functions seemed intact - he would need more tests, but he wasn't unduly concerned.   
  
Sam's mother had come in the night and gone back to Alex's room, to keep an eye on him. Ainsley trusted the hospital personnel, they were nice with her, but she preferred to have someone from the family with her son at all times.   
  
"Hey," Sam whispered.  
  
His voice was still hoarse and she gave him an ice cube.  
  
"What...?" he began to ask, a confused look on his face.  
  
"You don't remember waking up earlier?"  
  
He began to shake his head and she stopped him with a hand on his forehead. "Better reconsider that, honey," she warned.  
  
"No," he said.  
  
"Okay. What's the last thing you remember?"  
  
"I finished meeting with Colleen," he said, looking at her. "I went to Mom's."  
  
"Yeah." It was stronger than her, she had to push his bangs back from his forehead. She felt vaguely comforted when he shot her an annoyed look. Well, as annoyed as he could manage, but she was still ready to be glad for that.  
  
"I picked up Alex..." He focused on the wall behind her, as if it was holding the answers he was looking for. "I... There was - " He stopped and swallowed, looking scared.  
  
"I know, Sam, it's over," Ainsley tried to reassure him.  
  
"Alex?"  
  
"He's fine," she soothed. "I promise, he's downstairs with your mother. He didn't have a scratch, Sam."  
  
"You sure?" he asked pleadingly.  
  
"Positive," she smiled.  
  
He closed his eyes briefly, and began to relax a little. "He was crying," he explained.  
  
"I'm sure he wasn't too pleased," she tried to joke.  
  
"I couldn't get to him. I tried."  
  
"I know, honey."  
  
"It hurt," he added, looking at her askance.  
  
"You'll be okay," she said, not wanting to go into too many details just then.  
  
"Okay. It's..." He swallowed again. "How - "  
  
"The doctors say it's looking good." Well, they had said that he would recover. Eventually.  
  
"Yeah?" He frowned a little, maybe trying to make a quick assessment. "How am I?" he asked.  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"Numb, all over."  
  
At least, she thought, the painkillers were doing their jobs. For now.  
  
"Your back and your left leg were hurt, and you'll need physical therapy, but it'll be okay."  
  
He looked at her and she could tell that he'd picked up on the number of 'gonna be okay' she'd uttered in the last ten minutes.  
  
"What?" he asked more firmly.  
  
"Your leg will also require a little more surgery."  
  
He digested that, then looked at her.  
  
"How bad..."  
  
"Sam, it really is too soon to tell," she said, not ready to admit that the problem was serious. "You'll be okay," she added, feeling stupid for always repeating the same words. At that point she was trying to convince herself as much as she was reassuring him.  
  
"When?" he asked, his eyes closing.  
  
Ainlsey suddenly had a hard time swallowing past the lump in her throat. Thankfully, he had passed out again so she didn't have to answer that question.  
  
**********  
  
When Sam woke up, in the afternoon, he was alone in the room. He was also having a hard time breathing, but he disregarded it as an after effect of the accident.  
  
He had seen a doctor earlier in the day - well, more than one doctor, really, but the one he was thinking about hadn't had good news. Ainsley had been with them during the discussion, holding his hand, smiling reassuringly, while the surgeon explained to him what exactly the accident had done to him, and how they would try to repair the problems. It wasn't encouraging, and the surgeon hadn't lied to him (a good point in his favor, Sam thought - there was nothing worse, to him, than medical staff who lied to the patient) : he would limp for the rest of his life, and whether it was noticeable or not would probably be up to him. If he followed the PT program to the letter, maybe it wouldn't be too bad. They would know a little more after the surgery.  
  
After he had gone, Ainsley had told him she would go check on Alex when he was asleep, and not to worry if she wasn't there when he woke up. She had come back with some good news: Alex was fine, his Mom was taking him home with her.  
  
After that, he had stopped fighting the painkillers to stay awake and had allowed himself to drift off. When he had regained consciousness, Ainsley was still there, sleeping on a plastic chair - why did hospitals only provide this kind of furniture to the families who came to visit, Sam had wondered. He had often thought about that when Josh was in the hospital after Rosslyn. He woke her up and convinced her to go home, take a shower, kiss Alex for both of them, and sleep in her bed for a few hours.  
  
"I don't want to leave you alone," she had argued.  
  
"Call someone. My Mom?"  
  
"She's with Alex," she had reminded him.  
  
"Right. My father?"   
  
"You sure?" she had asked.  
  
He was. Seeing his father under normal circumstances was painful, but these weren't normal circumstances, and Ainsley needed her sleep. She had given birth not six months earlier, and Alex hadn't slept much recently. She had to be exhausted, he knew.  
  
He would survive his father.  
  
"Yeah, call him. It'll be fine."  
  
She nodded, clearly unhappy but too tired to argue, which confirmed him in his idea that she needed sleep. Badly.  
  
His father had come as soon as he had been called, and Ainsley had left, promising to be back in a few hours.  
  
He didn't know how long ago that was, but she hadn't returned yet. He hoped she was resting. And in the meantime, he was really having a hard time breathing.  
  
Was that normal?  
  
His father entered the room as he was wondering whether he should call a nurse or not.  
  
"You okay, son?" he asked.  
  
Sam nodded, a little worried himself, but not wanting to make a fuss for nothing.  
  
"You're sure?" his father insisted. "You look a little pale there."  
  
"Must be because I was in a car accident last night," Sam tried to joke.  
  
His father didn't smile though, and sat down next to the bed, on the same chair Ainsley had occupied for hours earlier in the day. "You scared me," he said. "Even after Ainsley told me that you were alive, I was... Sam, I..."  
  
He didn't finish his sentence, gesturing helplessly. Sam nodded, carefully, so as not to awake the headache again. His father loved him, he knew. Even when he was away, even when the fights between his parents had gotten so bad that they didn't talk to each other and made Sam play the role of the counselor, his father loved him. Simply, these things weren't said out loud in their family.  
  
"I know," he said.  
  
He also knew that his father had surely been scared of losing him. He understood that. A lot better now that he had Alex. If something happened to his son, he wasn't sure he would be able to survive it. He had thought he was prepared for the feelings fatherhood would bring in him, but he had been far from truly realizing the intensity of the sentiments he would have for his son.  
  
Now he thought nothing would have prepared him to the gut-deep reactions his son provoked in him, the fear that something could happen to him.  
  
"I know," he repeated.  
  
His father nodded.  
  
"Try to sleep," he said, and Sam felt his eyes close.  
  
He was still having a hard time breathing, and was now hurting on top of it, but he was too tired to care anymore.  
  
**********  
  
Marcia Seaborn's place  
  
Ainsley put Alex back into his crib. He hadn't reacted when she had picked him up, he was exhausted apparently.  
  
She smiled, seeing him sleep. The first few nights he had spent home with them, Sam and her sometimes spent hours watching him sleep, marveling at the simple fact that he existed, that they had given birth to such a perfect little child.  
  
She had the feeling that this lost habit would be revived for a time.  
  
She heard the phone ring downstairs, and the hurried steps of Marcia, her mother-in-law, rushing to take it. She hadn't gone home at all, she had come here directly to see Alex, and Marcia had told her to shower and sleep here. She had gratefully accepted.  
  
Marcia was climbing the stairs with the phone now, and something must have shown on her face because she hurried to say "It's not the hospital, it's the West Wing."  
  
She almost slapped herself.  
  
She had forgotten to call them.  
  
She couldn't believe she had forgotten that.  
  
"Hello," she said, taking the phone from Marcia's hands. Her mother-in-law took a quick look at Alex, smiled, and gestured that she would be downstairs.  
  
"Ainsley? It's Toby."  
  
"Hi. He's fine, Toby," she said, before the man could explode. It was impossible, of course, but she thought she could feel the worried vibes the man sent from Washington to here.  
  
"So Marcia said. What happened?"  
  
"Are you alone?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's just that I'm wiped out, and if I tell you, all the others will ask to come on the phone, and - "  
  
"It's okay, we had foreseen that," a grave voice said in the background, and Ainsley blushed furiously.  
  
"Mister President," she greeted. She should have guessed.  
  
"Mrs Seaborn," he answered, a smile in his voice. "We're all in the Oval, so you'll just have to tell it once. How is he?"  
  
She sat down and began to explain everything she knew about Sam's condition.  
  
**********  
  
A few hours later  
  
Hospital  
  
Sam woke up again, and wondered why he was asleep in a foreign room, and during the day, apparently.  
  
Then it came back to him.  
  
The accident.  
  
Ainsley and Alex.  
  
His leg.  
  
And why was it hurting that much to breathe?  
  
He knew he had broken ribs, but was his chest supposed to hurt that much?  
  
"God," he hissed, and his father appeared in his line of sight.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"Hurts," he said, feeling the pain becoming more intense with every breath.  
  
He tried to slow his breathing down, but it didn't seem to help at all.  
  
He tried to move, but it definitely made things worse.  
  
He vaguely saw his father's lips moving, but he couldn't make out what he said. He was hearing the voice, far, far away, his sight was becoming blurry, and that was worrying.  
  
A nurse appeared near his father, and she seemed to be asking him something.  
  
"Hurts," he said, because at the moment, that was all that mattered to him. He saw her look at the machines he was hooked up to, then a wave of pain of unprecedented intensity shot through him and everything faded to black.  
  
**********  
  
Marcia's place  
  
Ainsley woke up in a darkened room. It took her a few minutes to remember where she was.  
  
Her mother-in-law's house.  
  
Someone had taken her shoes off, and covered her with a light blanket.  
  
She listened, and when she didn't hear Alex cry, she got up and shot a look in the crib. He was sleeping, like the last time she had seen him.  
  
Her talk with the White House had lasted 15 minutes - 15 exhausting minutes. She had had to explain what had happened to Sam, then Toby had explained how they had heard what had happened on the news, and she had apologized for not calling sooner. She hadn't thought that it would make the news, she had told them. She wanted to know more before she warned them.  
  
The President had dismissed her apologies, saying that they all understood that she had enough on her mind without worrying about them. Then, Josh had told her he would fly in the week end, along with Donna. "He's the only one we can spare right now," the President had added regretfully, and she had surmised that the election campaign was harder than they expected.  
  
"You don't have to - " she began.  
  
"We know. We're sending him anyway."  
  
She had hung up, exhausted, and had fallen asleep immediately.  
  
Now she was ready, more than ready, for a shower. She felt filthy, and sore, which always happened when she slept in her clothes.  
  
She was beginning to be hungry, too, and the smell coming from the kitchen made her stomach growl.  
  
She headed to the bathroom, and ran the shower.  
  
**********  
  
She and Marcia were finishing their meal when the phone rang again. Marcia took it, and came back in the room, handing it to Ainsley. "It's John."  
  
Her hand shaking slightly, she took the phone, to hear her father-in-law tell her that there was a problem, and she had to come back.  
  
He was waiting for her when she arrived at the hospital. He told her that he'd been with Sam and he had noticed that he was having a hard time breathing. Then Sam had complained that it hurt, a monitor had begun to beep and the staff had rushed in and wheeled Sam away.  
  
They settled in a waiting room and paced, counted the tiles on the floor and drank coffee. The number of things you can do in a waiting room is quite limited, Ainsley reflected more than once in the following hour.   
  
The doctor entered after two hours, looking grim.  
  
"He should be fine," he said, talking softly.  
  
"What happened?"   
  
"Pulmonary embolism."  
  
After a brief silence, during which Ainsley noticed for the first time that the clock on the wall was clicking really loudly, John and her began talking together. The doctor lifted a hand to make them quiet down.  
  
"We treated it in time and he should be fine. He's asleep now, and I'll ask you not to wake him up. We moved him, I'll have a nurse show you the way to his room."  
  
**********  
  
Sam woke up a few hours after Ainsley had taken position at his bedside. She waited for him to take in his bearings. He finally looked at her, having observed his surroundings.  
  
"Not same room," he mumbled, looking confused.  
  
"No. There was a problem..." she trailed off.  
  
"It hurt." He swallowed and grimaced. She helped him to drink a little, asking if he was still in pain.  
  
He thought for a minute, obviously making a quick assessment. He finally shook his head. "Better now," he said, looking too tired to form a more complete sentence.   
  
"You had an embolism."  
  
"Oh," he said, frowning slightly.  
  
"Yes, oh. Can you stop scaring me like that, please?" she asked brokenly.  
  
"Not doing it on purpose," he protested softly.  
  
"I know, honey, believe me I know."  
  
"Did it..." he gestured vaguely.  
  
She nodded. "The docs say you'll be fine."  
  
He nodded tiredly. "Cool."  
  
They stayed silent for a moment, and after a while, Ainsley said "The President called. They're all worried."  
  
He didn't answer, and she looked at him, to see that he had passed out again.  
  
Taking his good hand in hers, she went on talking. 


	6. Chapter Two : Changes Part 2

PART TWO  
  
2006, Manchester  
  
When Sam entered the room, Ainsley sat up and watched him make his way to the bathroom. He was limping, far more so than usual.  
  
She knew what it meant - his leg was hurting, and if she knew him, he was going to deny it.  
  
"Sam?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Do you need help?"  
  
He came back in the room, and she could hear the water running in the bathtub. "I... Yes, if you don't mind," he admitted, and her worry escalated a notch.  
  
"How bad is it?"  
  
"It'll be fine," he said, but they both knew what it meant - 'No, I don't need the strong painkillers yet'.  
  
He had told her once that he was terrified that one day, the painkillers he took would stop being effective. He had several brands of medicine, from light pain relievers to codeine ones. He tried not to take too many of the latter, but sometimes, after she had spent the night listening to him turning in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position, she forced one on him. Neither of them liked the way it knocked him out, but when it was needed, Ainsley just insisted.  
  
Most times, though, he was really fine. There was always a slight limp in the way he walked, but it usually wasn't noticeable. It only got worse when he was too tired, when he had spent the day on his feet, and of course, when it was cold or wet - like now. In these cases, he often had to take something. He refused to be under medication while doing his job, and she suspected that being elected Governor would reinforce this resolution, but when he came home, she bullied him into taking something. She had become quite adept at seeing through his reassurances. She knew how to interpret his tone, the lines on his face, and usually could tell what level of pain he was in just by observing him.  
  
Today, if she read the signs correctly, it was a still-dull-but-going-to-be-worse kind of pain. If he was already hurting at eight in the morning, then it would definitely get worse during the day. It was a rule, and it suffered no exceptions.  
  
She got up, and joined him in the bathroom. He had already taken his shirt off, and his back was to her, so she took this opportunity to enjoy the view.  
  
"You know, I can tell when you're staring," he said, his tone slightly amused.  
  
She smiled, relieved that he was feeling up to joking, even a little.  
  
If only the tightness in his voice hadn't been present too...  
  
"What, I can't profit being married to you?"  
  
He turned then, trying to smile. "Oh, far be it from me to deny you that right," he teased, and she raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I think the bathtub is as full as it'll ever be," she said, and he cut off the flow of water.  
  
When he turned back to her, there was a pallor to his face that hadn't been there a few minutes ago, and she frowned a little. "Sam?"  
  
"Fine," he repeated. "I'm sure water will help."  
  
She nodded, then gestured to him. "Well, strip off then," she said, and the look he gave her made her blush.  
  
Once he had taken his clothes off, she helped him to climb into the tub, then to lie down in the water. It took them a few minutes to get him settled; he was really stiff, she found out, and he tended to lean on her heavily when he was like that - scared of falling down and hurting himself, he had once told her.  
  
He rested his back on the tub's edge, and closed his eyes, trying to relax. He was often too crisp for his own good, and it didn't help the muscles to relax. She sat down next to him, and stroked his hair gently. He opened his eyes and looked at her.   
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Sam..." she said, rolling her eyes. "You know I don't mind, for God's sake. Why would I? We're married, remember?"  
  
"I still marvel at that every morning actually," he confessed.  
  
"Right - "  
  
"And I'm sure it can't be fun to have a guy my size leaning on you for all he's worth."  
  
That annoyed her. He seemed to be spending way too much time thanking her when she helped him through the pain, and she didn't want him to think that she did it out of duty - or worse, out of pity. If she could only find a way to make him understand that. Her reassurances hadn't seemed to work so far, and she decided to play dirty, for once. Maybe that kind of message would get through.  
  
"There are upsides, you know," she said, letting her hand linger on his chest, then move down. And down.  
  
At his gasp, she stopped and looked at him. Now he was the one blushing, and not because he was deep into hot water. Not only.  
  
"Better not tire you out," she said regretfully. "Not yet."  
  
He looked ready to protest, but in the end, he nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. Okay. I guess."  
  
"Does it still hurt?"  
  
"Not as much, amazingly," he said, his voice curiously high. "But I'm not sure it has to do with the water." She knew he was lying through his teeth, but at least, he had been distracted for a while.  
  
Getting up, she smiled gently at him. "Try to relax some more, okay? I'd better go tell the others that we'll be late for breakfast."  
  
He nodded, and she tried to ignore the way he was staring at her as she went.  
  
**********  
  
Half an hour later  
  
Sam let Ainsley help him get up. The water was becoming colder now, and after half an hour sitting in it, he was more than ready to get out. He tried to move his leg, and realized that it was a little less stiff than it had been before. Not much, but it was still an improvement.  
  
His back was still bothering him, though.  
  
Ainsley must have seen him test his leg, and she asked, "You'll be able to get out of there?"  
  
He thought about that, but he had to admit that he needed help.  
  
Great.  
  
He felt stupid for being embarrassed - He and Ainsley were married, she had seen him naked before for God's sake. He just couldn't help feeling in a position of inferiority. She was trying to turn it into a game, and he was thankful for the effort, but he didn't feel sexy when he was like that. He felt weak, self conscious, and too aware of the scars that were now running over his body.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"Yeah, thanks."  
  
He wrapped a towel around his waist, leaned on Ainsley to get out of the tub, and let her guide him to the room. He went to their luggage and retrieved a small box, full of various painkillers. She watched him, and when she saw him take the lightest one, she offered hesitantly, "Massage?"  
  
He hesitated. He knew the medication wouldn't be effective enough, and maybe it would help him relax.  
  
He shot a look to the clock and pondered, trying to evaluate just how much they would be late.  
  
"I told them we'd be a while," she said, catching his eyes.  
  
"Did you, hum, phrase it like that?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He looked, and she shrugged, "What, I'm not responsible for any erroneous interpretation they'd reach," she pointed out.  
  
"Right," he said, skeptically, before heading to the bed and lying, face down, on the soft sheets.  
  
She moved to his side without further comment, and he felt her hands begin to rub the small of his back. He knew there was a scar down there, a quite visible one. The torn ligaments had required surgery to repair, contrary to what the doctors had hoped.   
  
There were awful scars on his leg too, and on his hand. The surgeon had recommended a plastic surgeon to him, but he didn't want to be operated on again, not even for something as trivial as removing these scars. He would have done it if Ainsley had asked him to, but she hadn't even tried to argue the issue - a rare occurrence.  
  
They didn't bother him that much anymore. He just never dressed in shorts, nor took his shirt off, in front of anyone but Ainsley.  
  
The only time they really bothered him was in moments such as this.  
  
He could feel the muscles finally finish untying in his back, and he sighed. This was good.  
  
"What did you do this morning?" Ainsley asked, and the non sequitur surprised him.  
  
"When?" he asked drowsily.  
  
"When you left before I woke up."  
  
"I went for a walk. I thought maybe it would help," he said, chuckling at how well that plan had worked.  
  
"It sometimes does," Ainsley pointed out.   
  
"Sometimes," he allowed. "Can you go back... there, yes." Ainsley's hands moved softly, and he closed his eyes, allowing his mind to drift off, first to the conversation he had had with the President, then to Josh's behavior the last days he had spent in DC, and to the day Josh had come visit him in California, three months after the accident.  
  
**********  
  
2004, California  
  
  
  
Sam was home at his desk, typing an email to Toby, when the bell rang.  
  
"Can you get it?" Ainsley asked. He groaned. It would take him hours to get to the door at the speed he was walking. Ainsley was busy feeding Alex, though, and he wasn't about to tell her to go open the door herself - he valued his life, and he truly didn't feel up to another debate on equal duties for the parents.  
  
Besides, he knew what she was thinking. He needed to walk, even if it took time, even if it hurt, because it was the only way he would get better. So he limped to the door, leaning on his crutches, yelling that he was coming in case the person on the other side was of the impatient type.  
  
When he opened the door, he found himself in front of Josh, who was grinning like an idiot, so much like he had in their first months on the Hill that Sam fleetingly wondered whether he had gone back in time.  
  
"Hey, Leo ordered me to go on holiday before I drove him insane, and I thought, 'Why not go see how Sam's doing?' So I packed, and here I am."  
  
Sam disregarded the few thousand questions that had automatically jumped to him, 'Leo sent you on holidays?', 'You came * here * when we haven't talked for months?', 'You're not with Amy?' and asked instead, "You packed? Yourself?"  
  
"Well, Donna did," Josh admitted. "But, hey, I told her what I wanted to take."  
  
It was stronger than him. "Even the underwear?"  
  
"No, I did that all by myself," he said indignantly.  
  
Sam smiled, and motioned for him to go in. "Don't mind the mess, we weren't expecting anyone," he apologized, fully conscious of all the baby toys dispersed all around the house - as well as quite a few of his own things, books, pens, floppy disks.  
  
Josh looked at him.  
  
"Do you remember my place?" he asked rhetorically, before scanning the room. "Where are the two wonderful creatures who share your life?" he asked, and Sam smiled and showed him the way to the kitchen, painfully aware of the time it took him to walk the few meters. Josh didn't seem to mind, though. He chatted non stop, about the latest adventures of Josh-the-master-politician. Sam wondered if he was talking that much to ease the tension, or to keep Sam's mind off the walking, then decided that it didn't really matter.  
  
The situation was awkward anyway.  
  
**********  
  
Much later that day, the two men were sitting in two leather chairs, a beer in their hands, watching the sun set on the town - a view Sam cherished.  
  
He was still wondering what his friend was doing here. Granted, he had come after the accident, but back then he was acting as a representative of the rest of the staff. He had come because they couldn't spare Toby or CJ. They hadn't talked much either. Sam was still groggy, and a little scared, after the embolism that had almost killed him.   
  
Josh hadn't been able to stay long that time, and he hadn't come back since then. Toby had come, then CJ the next week, and after that, Sam had been released from the hospital, and the updates on his health had taken place by phone. Josh had called a few times, but they had never talked about the way Sam had left DC. They were busy updating each other on the current state their lives were in, and trying to ignore the fact that they stopped talking after five minutes, and hung up after ten, not finding anything to say.  
  
Besides, at the time, Sam was busy dealing with the aftermath of his accident. The physical therapist who was working with him hadn't lied to him. He would walk again, and maybe, on good days, his limp wouldn't be too noticeable, but it would be there. His back was healing slowly - at least, Sam told himself ten times a day, at least the spine hadn't been hurt. His leg had required two more operations, that had left horrendous scars, and he needed to learn how to move without hurting himself. She had also insisted that he buy a cane, for the bad days - the days where he'd need support so he didn't overexert the leg. Sam had held back a grimace, thinking that it would still be better than the crutches.  
  
He had been scared. He could easily have died from the blood clot. The surgeons had been able to stop it before it reached the heart but it had been a close call.  
  
Ainsley hadn't really talked about it, but the way she looked at him was enough to make him understand just how close a call.  
  
He had been lucky, he told himself, as he was being tortured by his physical therapist, for hours, repeating the same movements, again and again, gritting his teeth against the pain, blowing up at the woman when she ordered him to go on after he had fallen down for the third time of the day and he felt like crying.  
  
He had been lucky.  
  
Maybe if he said it often enough, he would be able to believe it.  
  
He was alive.  
  
Alex was fine, and hadn't been hurt.  
  
He was 36 and would limp for the rest of his life.  
  
He had been lucky.  
  
Everyone said so. Except for Josh. Josh had never said that. Maybe he remembered that everyone had told him how lucky he had been after Rosslyn, maybe he hadn't forgotten how unfair this kind of trauma seems, even when you've been lucky.  
  
He was glad to see Josh, but he was really wondering what he was doing here. "Josh, why did you come?" he asked, staring at the ocean.  
  
"Donna would say that I came to grovel," Josh said, his serious tone belying the lightness of the words. Sam smiled, remembering a discussion they'd had on his last night in DC.  
  
"But that's not the case?" Sam asked.  
  
"No. I came because... I had an epiphany, Sam."  
  
Sam finally turned to him, ready to laugh, but Josh looked serious enough so he held back and let him speak.  
  
"Amy dumped me," Josh added, staring at the ocean.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said. He had never really understood what those two saw in each other, but they had stayed together for three years, so he supposed they had to have been serious. It was, by far, the longest relationship Josh had ever been involved in, and that in itself spoke volumes.  
  
"Are you?" Josh asked. "Cause the universal reaction seemed to be a big 'thank God', and I really - "  
  
"Josh, I won't pretend I understood what you were doing together, but I figured after three years, you were... commited to each other."   
  
Josh nodded. "Thanks, man. It... it was a blow. I mean... she said things to me, and I tried to disregard them, to pretend that it was just part of the break up scene she had played. But I got thinking, and now I'm wondering... Sam, am I a jerk?"  
  
The question took Sam by surprise, and he began to laugh, a little at first, then uncontrollably.  
  
"It's not that funny," Josh protested.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sam said, when he was able to catch his breath. "It's just... Josh, tell me you didn't fly all the way from Washington to ask me... God, that's..."  
  
"Okay," Josh said hesitantly, looking a little pained.  
  
Sam had regained his composure, and he looked at Josh more attentively. He looked tired, more rumpled than his flight could have accounted for, and he had some gray hair now.   
  
He was past forty, still single, he seemed older than his age and he definitely looked like he should put a halt on his beer consumption if he didn't want to turn fat.  
  
Watching Josh more carefully, Sam wondered if it was defeatism he saw in the way his friend's shoulders were hunched over?  
  
Josh didn't look very happy right now.  
  
Sam was biting his lips, and he asked, just to make sure that Josh wanted the truth, "Josh, you know I never lied to you about my feelings?"  
  
"Why do you think I came?" Josh asked  
  
Sam nodded, his decision made.  
  
Maybe he would hurt Josh by telling him that, but if he had really come all this way out of a sincere desire to change, he could give him the truth. In memory of the good days...  
  
"You've been a jerk for some time now, Josh," he said, and Josh looked at him, but he wasn't able to read his face. "You've been arrogant, self involved, so sure you have all the answers - "  
  
"I was self-involved?" Josh asked, sadly.  
  
"Josh, how many times did I try to talk to you about something I found important, only to have you tell me that you had to meet Amy? How many times did you look me in the eyes while you were lying? How many times did you listen to what I wanted to talk about when I started dating Ainsley? Yes, there was the MS to deal with, but it was my life too, and I was scared to death because we were getting serious and I had been burned once. I was trying to ask for your advice, and you answered, 'Whatever, what are we going to do to spin the MS thing?' I know we were all busy dealing with our own feelings, but..."  
  
Josh was staring at his shoes, and Sam softened his voice. "Look, it's great that you want to change, but you did ask, and yes, Josh, you were an ass. I thought I had gotten used to it within a few months of knowing you, but either I was wrong or you reached a whole new level of jackassness recently. Or maybe I'm the one who became less tolerant, go figure."  
  
Josh smiled softly. "Maybe there's a little of all that."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"I'm going to try to change, you know. I mean... God, I'm forty-three, and what do I have? What have I achieved so far?"  
  
"We're all there, Josh. We all wonder what we could have done better."  
  
"But you're married, you have a kid, you work to make things better - "  
  
"So do you," Sam pointed out.  
  
"It's not the same," Josh sighed. "It's... I don't know, for a long time, we couldn't do what we wanted to do because we needed to think about re-election, and now it's almost like we're all thinking, 'What's the point?' I have the feeling that we're going to have to work to get Hoynes elected, and that we're going to have to make concessions..."  
  
"Josh, all that is normal. It's governing, it's trying to make things better like you can - "  
  
"Then why did you leave? You weren't happy with the way we did things back then, were you?"  
  
Sam leaned back in his chair, surprised at how defensive Josh sounded all of a sudden. "I... Part of the reason I left was that, yes," he admitted. "Another part was that I thought you all needed better than someone who wasn't ready to give his best to the administration. I was mad about the MS, and yes, it's another reason, but not the only one. And most of all, I had the feeling I was becoming invisible. I know I should have reacted better to the disclosure, but I didn't, and that pretty much affected my relationship with all of you guys. You weren't listening to me anymore, and I didn't want to make an effort. I was way too tired for that."  
  
He stopped, surprised himself by his rant, and Josh eyed him carefully.  
  
"And now?" he asked after a while.  
  
"Now I don't regret leaving. It was time for me to move on. But I do regret the way things ended between the two of us. And since we're into big confessions tonight, I'll admit that I'm more than ready to put the past behind us now. I've got other things to think about right now," he said.  
  
Questions like, am I a good father? A good husband?   
  
A good writer? A good chief of staff?   
  
Why did this accident have to happen?  
  
Josh nodded slowly, and took a sip of his beer. "So... Am I forgiven for being a jackass?" he asked.  
  
Sam looked at him, and understood that it was that, more than his 'epiphany', that had made Josh come here.  
  
"Sure," he said, surprised to discover that he meant it. "Just as long as we agree to disagree on quite a number of topics..."  
  
"So we can coexist in peace..." Josh finished, and Sam arched an eyebrow.   
  
"Have you been watching Star Trek again?" he asked.  
  
"Why would I do something like that?"  
  
"Because you're weird."  
  
"Oh, look who's talking! Mister I-read-dictionaries-for-pleasure."  
  
"Oh, that's weak, Josh!"  
  
The two men were so busy arguing they didn't notice Ainsley, listening to them from inside the house, smiling softly.  
  
**********  
  
2006, Manchester  
  
"You okay, buddy?" Josh asked as soon as Sam and Ainsley appeared in the kitchen.  
  
"Fine," Sam said, not willing to dwell on the matter.  
  
The rest of the gang had obviously finished eating a while ago, and Abbey, who was chatting with CJ, turned to them. "I'll have something fixed for you."  
  
Sam was about to protest that he wasn't hungry when a glare from the First lady stopped him short. "You're not about to pretend that you don't need anything to eat, are you, Samuel?" she asked dangerously.  
  
CJ and Josh looked at him, amused expressions on their faces, and Sam smiled sheepishly. "No?" he ventured.  
  
"Damn right, you're not," she said, and motioned for him and Ainsley to sit. Josh and CJ took places at the kitchen table with them, and CJ explained softly that Leo and Toby were arguing on the goodbye address, and that the President was enjoying the show.  
  
"Isn't... Steve going to help him with that?" Sam asked.  
  
"Steve's gone," Abbey explained.  
  
"You're kidding me, right!" Ainsley exclaimed. "It was the... how many people has he fired anyway?"  
  
"Seven. Two of them were rehired, and were fired again soon after."  
  
Sam laughed softly. His former boss's hiring/firing deputies habits had become something of a legend. He just hadn't seemed to find anyone else who was good enough for the job - he claimed all the writers of the town were either dead or already at work, but everyone suspected that it had a lot to do with his refusal to replace Sam.  
  
"I sympathize with them," Ainsley said, and CJ rolled her eyes.  
  
"Sympathize with us, would you! We're the ones who got stuck with Mister Grumpy there for three years."  
  
"And God knows that man can be vocal when he wants to," Bartlet's voice said from the doorway. They all shot to their feet, and he waved them back, glaring at Sam. "You shouldn't be getting up anyway, Sam," he chastised. "Is it better?"  
  
"Yes, thank you," he lied, and it obviously didn't come out convincingly.  
  
They all stared, including Ainsley, not saying a word. He almost laughed. "I took a pill, it'll get better eventually. It's just the weather that's making it worse than it usually is."  
  
"Well, I'm glad to see you both," Bartlet said, "but if I had known, I would have picked a better time of the year."  
  
Sam shrugged. "I wasn't sure it would happen, but I had thought about it. I wanted to see you all anyway, and it's not for long," he said.  
  
"Not long enough, no," Josh said wistfully.  
  
"I'm barely here, and he already complains," Sam laughed, and all the others smiled softly. "Let's focus on the present, Josh, shall we?"  
  
"Yes, Governor," Josh said, his tone sarcastic.  
  
"Oh, will you stop with that?"  
  
Bartlet smiled. "Now, you know how I feel each time someone calls me President."  
  
"Yes, Mister President," Sam said seriously.  
  
Bartlet sighed. "It will be a long battle, won't it?"  
  
A chorus of "Yes, sir," answered him.  
  
He shrugged good naturedly. "Fine, so be it. We have, after all, all the time in the world to break you all of that habit." 


	7. Chapter Two : Changes Part 3

PART THREE  
  
2005, California  
  
In January, Governor Adams once asked Sam to join him in his office. His Lieutenant Governor, Michael Sands, was present too, and Sam assumed they were going to talk about the strategy for the next campaign. They still had plenty of time, but you could never start strategizing soon enough, Sam thought. His days with Bartlet had taught him that much.  
  
"Have a seat," the governor said, and the three of them stayed silent a moment. Sands finally spoke up, as Sam was beginning to wonder what was wrong.  
  
"Sam, in a few days, I'm going to announce my candidacy for the presidency."  
  
Sam stared at him, dumbfounded. "Sir?" he asked.  
  
"Sam, I don't like Hoynes. It's no secret. He's going to run, and hopefully win. I want to make sure he'll run a good campaign. I want to make his life difficult. I..."  
  
He gestured vaguely, and Sam recalled the reasons why Jed Bartlet had run in the first place. He didn't know if Sands was aware of what Bartlet had been expecting of his campaign, and if he wasn't, it wasn't Sam's place to fill him in, but in a way, he thought it was fitting that someone would try and keep Hoynes on his toes.  
  
He nodded to show Sands that he understood and turned to the governor. "So I guess we have to find someone who'll - "  
  
"Sam, there's something else you need to know," the governor said. Sam felt a lump form in his stomach. That didn't sound good at all. He looked his boss carefully. He had aged in the past few months, it had been a point the press had raised a few times. All his hair had turned grey in a few months time, and the wrinkles around his eyes were more visible than they had been when the two of them had met. Other than that, he was still as energetic as he had been when they had first met, and still as loud when making an argument.  
  
"Governor?"  
  
"I'm not going to run again. I planned to, I really did, but... the press has been on my back for months now about my health, and they're not entirely wrong. I still have two years, but I think it's time to let the younger generation take over. And I'll add that the party agrees with me."  
  
Sam took a moment to digest all that. He knew that the governor didn't like the idea that he wasn't at top form anymore, that he would now have to take it easier, but he could understand his reasons.  
  
On the other hand, it seemed like he would be updating his resume sooner than he had expected.  
  
Then he realized the implications of what had just been said.  
  
"You already talked to the DNC?" he asked, and the governor nodded, then shot a quick glance at Sands.  
  
"They've agreed to let me talk to you first. Sam, we'd want you to run."  
  
Sam stared at him.  
  
Run?  
  
For governor?  
  
"Sir, I've never..." He trailed off, not wanting to point out the obvious.  
  
Campaign?  
  
For himself, instead of someone else?  
  
"Sam, everyone has to have a first time," the Governor said. "I'm sure you'll do great."  
  
Good, because he wasn't so sure.  
  
Him, running for...  
  
No way.  
  
Unless...  
  
After all, it wasn't as if he had never thought about it. Hell, how many times had he considered what he would do if he ever had the chance to be elected - what kind of chances he would take, what kind of concessions he would be willing, or unwilling, to make.  
  
Yes, he had wondered what kind of leader he would be.  
  
But that had been theory, and he had never seriously considered doing it.  
  
"I don't know," he said, and the governor nodded.  
  
"I'd be worried if you did," he smiled. "Take the time to think, talk to your wife. Consider your options. Just don't take too much time. As you pointed out, you've never run before. We would have to start campaigning for you pretty soon."  
  
Sam nodded, and said goodbye to the two men, then left the office, so lost in his thoughts he barely heard his assistant tell him goodbye.  
  
**********  
  
Much later that night, he was in bed with Ainsley. The two of them were deep into speculation, about an eventual campaign, about worst case scenarios, about chances, and how their decision would affect their lives, either way.  
  
When the phone rang, Sam picked it up absentmindedly.   
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Hey, it's Josh. You'll never believe what just happened here!"  
  
"Hey, Josh," he said, not listening. "I'm considering running for governor, how is that? In fact, I'm wondering..." he trailed off, and hung up on his friend. Ainsley looked askance at him, and he stared back at her blankly.  
  
"Who was it and what did he want?" she asked.  
  
"Josh. And... I didn't let him..."  
  
Realizing what he had done, he grimaced, and picked up the phone again, dialing his friend's number.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said as soon as Josh had picked up. "You were saying?"  
  
"I met someone. Stacy. Whatever. Governor?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm... thinking."  
  
"Okay," Josh said, and the two of them began to talk. After a while, Sam put him on speaker so Ainsley could participate. Then Josh called in CJ and Toby, and the five of them made plans until early morning.  
  
It was when they hung up that Sam realized he had gone from 'what would I do if I was the governor?' to 'what do I need to do to become the next governor?'  
  
He got back to the office with dark circles under his eyes, and an answer for the Adams.  
  
**********  
  
As they had promised, the governor and his lieutenant put Sam on the front of the scene, emphasizing his importance to the administration, his input in the big decisions, his knowledge of the office, and of the country. No one made a big deal out of it, and they were discreet in their maneuvers, but after a few months, it had become obvious what they were trying to do. By that time, it was time for the candidates to announce that they were going to run, and after many reunions of planning and strategizing with the rest of the staff, who had been enrolled in the campaign's preparation, Sam made his announcement. The reaction they got was what they expected - no one laughed outright, but many people, democrats and republicans alike, decided to wait and see what Sam would be like in his campaign.  
  
He could live with that.  
  
"They're going to bring up the call girl thing," Colleen told him once, during yet another strategy meeting.  
  
"And the fact that he was a staffer for President Bartlet," Peter added.  
  
"And about that - "  
  
Sam rose abruptly. "Could you please refrain from talking about me as if I wasn't in the room?" he asked, and all conversations stopped, all eyes trained on him, everyone waiting for someone to say something.  
  
"I'm sorry, I - " Peter began.  
  
Sam didn't let him finish. "Look, I know you're all eager to help, and thanks for the extra hours you're all putting in, but seriously, my name is Sam. Not 'him', okay?"  
  
He had kept silent for too long on this, and now he had had it. They had worked together for years now, he wasn't going to let them treat him as yet another candidate. They were friends, not mere colleagues.  
  
There were nods of agreement all around the room, and he left, avoiding looking at them. Colleen followed him to his office.  
  
"They're trying to get their footing here, Sam."  
  
"I know," he said, sighing and sitting carefully in his chair. Trying not to grimace at the stiffness in his leg.   
  
"Does it hurt?" she asked.  
  
It did, yes. Oh yes... He tended to be harsh with his colleagues when he was in pain, and Colleen had been the first one to notice that trend. They cut him some slack because of that, and he was grateful, but he didn't like blowing up at them because of his problems.  
  
It wasn't the only reason for his bad mood, though. "I'm just... a little freaked. I'm not used to being in the spotlight."  
  
"I know."  
  
"And with Toby and CJ and, God, Josh, breathing down my neck with advice, I'm not sure..."  
  
"Who to listen to?" she guessed.  
  
"Something like that." He let a few seconds pass, and when she didn't say anything, he asked, "What do you think?"  
  
She looked surprised at the question, and he motioned for her to sit down. He hadn't realized his tendency to turn to her for advice at first. It was Ainsley who had made him that remark one night, and in hindsight, he had had to admit that she was right. He liked Colleen. She was commanding, she was cool headed, she was practical, and she had been the one to keep him focused on the task in the past two years. They made a good team, the governor had told them so several times. He was an idealist who was learning how to live in the real world, she was a cynic who was discovering her own ideals. The perfect match, Adams had joked once, and Sam realized now that the older man had been more right than he had thought.  
  
He relied on her a lot already, and he thought now was as good a time as any to say it out loud and have it in the open.  
  
She thought for a minute, then carefully said, "I think you should hire one campaign team, and stick with them. If you don't, the message you're trying to send will come as less clear, more... I don't know, incoherent."  
  
He had already thought about that, too. But he was reluctant to tell his friends to mind their own business.  
  
"Sam, I know you love them dearly, but they live in Washington, and if I'm not mistaken, they're going to rally behind Hoynes so Ritchie doesn't get elected. They'll have their hands full already. They don't live here, we all do, we know the state, we... I don't know how to put this... 'feel' it, I guess. Besides, they haven't seen you at work in years. We know you, we know your style, what you want, what you're trying to say. If you want their input, fine, if you want to run some things by them, fine, but don't take two teams on board."  
  
"That was - "  
  
"I'm sorry," she said, suddenly afraid that she had said too much.  
  
"Eloquent," he finished, and she relaxed. "I had already considered some of that. I think you're right. They're not going to like it, but you're right, of course."  
  
"I am?" she asked.  
  
He smiled, and decided to ask now. "Colleen, Ainsley recently pointed out that I'm relying on you for an increasing number of problems - not just for the job, but for the campaign as well. You're all here as the governor's team. He's the one who hired you, he's the one you're loyal to. I can't thank you guys enough for all the work you've put into this, but we're soon going to have to talk about definite positions. What I'm trying to say is this : will you accept to manage this campaign for me?"  
  
She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and finally said, "Sure, I will. I mean... I wasn't sure you appreciated what I had to say."  
  
"I do. I don't always follow your advice, and I'm sure we'll have more disagreements in the future, but I do appreciate you."  
  
"Okay," she said, smiling.  
  
"Who else will stay?" he asked.  
  
"Who do you want?"  
  
"Peter and Jim, anyway. I'm not sure either of them is ready to work solo yet, but they're good together. Besides, I'll do some speechwriting too along the way. Do you think they'd - "  
  
"They will. Don't worry."  
  
Sam's assistant poked her head through the door. "I'm sorry, but Josh Lyman wants to talk to you," she said, and he rolled his eyes.  
  
He was going to have this conversation now, then. He was sure Josh's first question would be about the campaign - how was it going, what was the next thing on the agenda, and was he sure he knew what his opponent was up to?  
  
Colleen got to her feet and he extended his hand to her. She took it, and they looked at each other solemnly, sealing the future of their team.  
  
He then picked up the phone, and Josh's voice greeted him. "She dumped me! And what the hell were you doing, attacking business like that?"  
  
**********  
  
2006, Manchester  
  
"I would have done good work," Josh insisted.  
  
Donna smacked him on the head.   
  
"Hey, what was that for?" he complained.  
  
"For being an idiot," she answered plainly, and everyone laughed.  
  
Donna had finally arrived, apologizing that her mother had refused to let go of her until late last night, which had caused her to miss her flight. Ainsley had been happy to see her - they hadn't met since Sam was in the hospital. She had been a big help that week end, reassuring her, assuring her that everything would be all right, that Sam was going to be fine, and keeping Josh from hovering too much.  
  
"I'm just saying, Sam could have - "  
  
"You were busy with Hoynes, and I had all the help I needed there, Josh," Sam said in his best long-suffering tone. They had had that discussion over the phone already.  
  
Several times.  
  
"Your opponent scored points with the call-girl thing."  
  
"And your being there would have changed that how?" Sam asked.  
  
"I..." Everyone looked at Josh expectantly, and he shrugged. "I would have kicked his ass."  
  
"Thanks a lot, but I do my own kicking of asses now," Sam said firmly.   
  
Ainsley smiled. For all his banter, he really had grown, away from Washington.   
  
She had wondered once or twice whether it had been a good idea for him to leave when he had. She had been afraid that he would have second thoughts, that he would forever wonder how things would have turned out if he had stayed with the President. She could see now that it had been good for him. He didn't dwell on the past, she knew. It was one thing she appreciated about him, his ability to move on.  
  
He had grown up. He had become more confident, away from the senior staff. He had had to prove himself to the Governor and to a team of strangers during Adams' campaign, and he had risen to the challenge.   
  
And in his own campaign, he had become his own man. He already was before the campaign, actually, but he didn't realize it then. She had noticed how annoyed he was when he had a phone call from one of the Washington staff, asking him what the hell he was thinking to have said this, or done that. Most of the time, when he made mistake, he realized it by himself - or Ainsley pointed it out to him.   
  
"I guess so," Josh said, clearly unhappy.  
  
Leo growled, "For Christ's sake, you look like a boy who's been denied a new toy. You had Hoynes' campaign to play with, remember?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And if you had been in California, when would you have asked Donna to marry you?" CJ asked.  
  
Everyone chuckled.   
  
It was only when Donna had arrived that Ainsley had heard about The Proposal, Lyman-style.  
  
The staff had been gathered in the Communications bullpen, watching Hoynes lose state after state, eating cake, and trying to pretend it all wasn't going to end. As the anchor was announcing that Hoynes had lost New Hampshire, "I had an epiphany," Josh said. "I was looking at Donna, who was staring at the screen, looking like her cat had died, and suddenly, it dawned on me. She was the woman of my life."  
  
"Took you long enough to reach that conclusion," Sam laughed. "You were only eight years behind the rest of us."  
  
"Yeah, well, anyway, I looked at her some more, and then I, hum..."  
  
"Then," Toby smirked, "he just shouted at her, 'Hey, Donna, do you want to marry me?' in the bullpen."  
  
"A long silence followed," CJ picked up the story. "I mean, talk about coming out of the blue."  
  
"And then," Leo added, "Donna raised an eyebrow, looked at him and said, 'Well, sure, Joshua. Just ask me again tomorrow, so I can be sure it's not adrenaline speaking.'"  
  
"It was a great moment," Josh protested.  
  
"Whatever you say, Joshua," Abbey concluded, as the rest of them chuckled.  
  
************  
  
November 2006, California  
  
When the election was called for Sam, there was an explosion of cheers, laughs, and popping champagne corks in the campaign's headquarters.   
  
For a few minutes, Sam and Ainsley were hugged by as many members of the staff as possible, Sam took the concession call from his opponent, then they had to answer a few questions for the journalists. They smiled, they waved, and Sam looked for a phone so he could call Toby. Josh was his friend, but Toby was always the one he sought the approval of. Ainsley suspected that it would never change - he worshipped Toby, even now that he knew that his hero was flawed, like the rest of them. He'd always try to make his former boss proud, she knew.  
  
She saw the uncertainty on his face as he talked to Toby, his shy smile, becoming bigger when he listened to the answer.  
  
Then he had to hang up for the noise was too loud to carry on a conversation, and he reached Ainsley's side. "He says congratulations to both of us from everyone. He also says he'll call back tomorrow, when there'll be less noise."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Colleen approached them. "Hey, wanna party?" she asked, obviously on a major adrenaline high.  
  
They looked at each other. This was going to be their last chance for a while, and the campaign hadn't been easy. The press had happily dug the Laurie story, then they had pointed out that Ainsley was two months pregnant when the two had gotten married, then that President Bartlet had lied to the country back when Sam was working for him.  
  
It had been a hard fight, and they deserved to have some fun.  
  
"Sure," Ainsley smiled. "Is there food somewhere?"  
  
Sam watched her go, smiling.   
  
They had won.  
  
He still couldn't believe it.  
  
He didn't doubt that there would be hard times ahead, and mistakes made, and unfortunate words in front of reporters, but for now, he guessed he could indulge in some fun.  
  
Joining Ainsley, he grabbed a drink, and they toasted. "To the future," he said.  
  
"To the future," she answered, smiling. 


	8. Chapter Three : Dark Days Part 1

Warning : This chapter deals with a subject that may upset some readers.  
  
CHAPTER THREE : DARK DAYS  
  
PART ONE  
  
2009, Manchester  
  
Why was it always cold when they came here? Sam wondered, limping to the kitchen where his friends were gathered.  
  
It was that time of the year, as all Bartlet's former staffers had come to name it. The Annual Gathering of the Family at the Manchester farm.  
  
He hadn't been sure he'd come, he had warned Abbey, but she had insisted, and Ainsley had decided that they both needed to take a few days off anyway. And now, two weeks later, on a cold morning, they were all gathered in Manchester, gratefully accepting the mugs Abbey distributed among them. Alex had been able to come this time, and he was fast asleep in his room, exhausted by the flight.  
  
"Do you have to force feed them, my dear?" Bartlet asked as Abbey bullied the guests into eating pie.  
  
"Yes," she retorted. "Look at them, they all look exhausted. Sam, when was the last time you ate?"  
  
"I... uh..." Amazing how a fairly articulate and educated man could turn speechless in front of Abbey Bartlet, he reflected.  
  
"Thought so. And Josh, stop snickering, your turn will come."  
  
Josh stopped snickering, and they all listened to her sermon about food, and health, and not complicating the jobs of their wives. Even Toby didn't dare to protest that he wasn't married.  
  
When she was done, Donna asked with a half smile "This is the main reason we're all here, isn't it, Ma'am?"  
  
"No. The main reason is that we both miss you all. Bullying you is a bonus. Now, go to the living room, and try to keep my husband entertained while I cook some food."  
  
They were obediently filing out of the room when she called Sam back.   
  
"How are you?" she asked. "Really?"  
  
He managed a smile. "I'm - We're fine, I guess."  
  
Which was a bit of an exaggeration. There were days when they almost made it without crying. Almost. Still, it was actually progress, so...  
  
She hugged him. "I'm so sorry we couldn't come to the funeral," she whispered. "Jed was better, but travelling was out of the question for him."  
  
He knew that, and he refrained from telling her that Ainsley and he wouldn't have noticed them even if they had been able to come. He didn't even remember his parents being there. All he remembered was the tiny hole in which the tiny coffin had been buried, and Donna telling him that everything was going to be all right after the doctor had had to sedate Ainsley. The rest of that day was a total blank to him, and he wasn't sure it was a bad thing.  
  
In fact the four days following Ben's death were blurry to him, and, he knew, to Ainsley. He vaguely remembered people expressing their regrets, telling him that time would make things better. He had a vague memory of Colleen telling him that they had received truckloads of flowers and letters from people who wanted to express their sympathy.  
  
A few random scenes were clear in his mind, for reasons past his understanding - the morning following the funeral, Ainsley, Alex and him trying to eat. Angela asking Ainsley if she wanted to take a shower, and Ainsley bursting into tears. Toby patting him on the shoulder, Josh putting a beer in his hand, neither of them saying a word. Why he remembered these moments and nothing more, he didn't know.  
  
Then, as he was becoming increasingly conscious of his environment, as the pain began to awaken, Bartlet had called him, expressing his condolences, apologizing for not being able to come. He had broken his leg falling down the stairs a few weeks earlier. For a minute, everyone had feared it was his MS progressing, but it turned out it was mostly the years adding up, finally. He was better at the time of Ben's death, but he couldn't take a plane.   
  
Sam, listening to his comforting words, feeling himself emerging from the daze he had been trapped in, had reflected that he would have preferred feeling numb for the rest of his life.  
  
He blinked back tears, realizing that Abbey was waiting for an answer. "I know you wanted to be there," he said. "It's okay. I know you thought about us."  
  
She rubbed his back slightly and sent him back with the others, a little tearful.  
  
**********  
  
Sam had joined the others in the living room and was letting the conversation unfold without him, lost in his thoughts.  
  
He tried not to think too much about Ben's death, but being here with his friends had brought back memories he'd rather have seen disappear. The last time he had seen CJ, Ainsley was eight months pregnant. The last time he had seen Leo, the older man was trying to keep him grounded during the priest's homily at the funeral, two days after... after.  
  
Ainsley had told him she was pregnant during a diner - candles, wine, and so on. She had announced it carefully, as if she had been afraid that he'd chicken out of the room. But, if fatherhood had once made him horribly nervous, he was older now. So many things had changed since the last time they had been expecting. He was the Governor now, and she was the Governor's wife. The thought of having another kid didn't make them panic like it had before. It was as good a time as any, they thought.  
  
No, Sam wasn't petrified anymore.  
  
Just slightly... apprehensive.  
  
It didn't mean that he hadn't cried in the maternity ward, when the nurse had put the baby in Ainsley's arms. Then later, when Alex had seen his brother for the first time. Then when he had called his friends to let them know.  
  
The first two months had been exhausting, but oh so happy. They had missed having a baby with them - Alex was great, but he was growing up, and he was beginning to show signs of wanting to do things by himself.  
  
They had enjoyed having another new born with them.  
  
Then, one night, Ainsley had woken him up, screaming from the baby's room.  
  
"Sam?" Bartlet's voice interrupted his musings.  
  
"Yeah?" he said, finding out that everyone was watching him. Great, just great.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Because Toby wanted to know why you had given the speech last Friday without being arrested by a 'grammar policeman', and - "  
  
"Toby!" Sam said indignantly, trying to pretend he was interested in the game his former boss was playing, "Why the hell would you think such a thing?"  
  
He wasn't making a good job of joking, he could tell, but none of the others insisted. Toby raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, since you ended up blue in the face after a five line sentence, I was wondering whether or not your staff was trying to kill you."  
  
**********  
  
Ainsley listened to Toby's opinion of Sam's speechwriting staff, grabbing Sam's hand discretely and squeezing it. The small pressure he gave back reassured her.   
  
She didn't like to see him zoning out like that, even if it didn't happen too often.  
  
She didn't like those four letters - SIDS.  
  
She didn't like that they cried so often.  
  
She didn't like that her son was dead.  
  
She was forced to live with it anyway.  
  
She had never been sure what had woken her up that night. Ben was barely two months old, he was finally sleeping more than half an hour in a row, and Sam and her were enjoying the time they could spend sleeping.   
  
They had settled him in his own room, but there were baby monitors. She listened and didn't hear anything, but decided to go check. Ben seemed to be asleep, and he didn't stir when she moved the blanket. Then she realized that he was cold.   
  
Way too cold.  
  
She tried to shake him, or rather, she saw her hand move of its own accord and shake him slightly, and he still didn't react.  
  
The rest was fuzzy. She vaguely saw Sam barge into the room, and he later told her that she had screamed to wake him up, but she didn't remember that part.  
  
What she did remember, though, was her husband taking the baby, putting it on the ground, and doing mouth-to-mouth on him, then yelling at her to call for help.   
  
She would never forget Sam, trying to breathe for Ben, doing CPR. A small part of her mind had told her that it was too late anyway - Ben's coolness, the way his body had moved bonelessly when she had shaken him, those were signs that something had gone horribly wrong - but she stood there, watching, as if by praying hard enough, she could bring her son back.   
  
Ben still hadn't reacted when the medics arrived.  
  
They probably knew it was too late, she saw them exchange a look when Sam told them that it had been at least ten minutes, and when one of them opened his mouth, she was sure he was going to say "I'm sorry, but it's too late." He didn't though. He told his colleague to prepare an intubation kit. They gently shoved Sam out of the way, Sam who looked terrified, more so than she remembered ever seeing him, and they both observed the medics.  
  
They worked on Ben for another ten minutes before stopping.   
  
"No," she breathed.  
  
"We're sorry," the older one said, looking genuinely compassionate. The younger one, he must have been barely twenty five, if that, just looked at them, his eyes wide, sympathetic.  
  
"Isn't there - " Sam began to ask, but the older medic was already shaking his head.   
  
She was glued to the spot, and she was almost sure she'd never be able to move again. If she stayed there, the world would just go on without her. Big deal. But if she moved, if she got out, then she'd have to take whatever would come next - she would have to thank the medics, wait for someone to come take away the body, go to sleep, then wake up the next morning, and God, she didn't want the night to stop, she didn't the sun to rise ever again, she didn't want to see what would happen next, she didn't want -   
  
She hadn't realized she was crying until Sam took her in his arms, not saying anything, just hugging her tightly, rocking her, rubbing her back.  
  
The last image she had of that night was the older medic motioning to the younger to follow him outside.  
  
She had been trying to erase the face of that kid from her memory ever since. The compassion in his eyes, as if he was feeling bad for her.  
  
She didn't want compassion, she wanted her son.  
  
A squeeze on her hand startled her from her reverie. Sam was looking at her worriedly. "Zoning out too?" he asked.  
  
She smiled weakly. She didn't tell him what she had been thinking about, she didn't need to. Usually, when they began to stare into space, it was because they were thinking about * that*  
  
Everyone was still chatting around them, and for a second, the unfairness of the situation struck her.  
  
Why the hell couldn't her son have survived to meet these people?  
  
Why the hell couldn't her son have survived, period?  
  
Sam squeezed her hand tighter, and she blinked back tears.  
  
There would be time for crying later that night, she thought, trying to focus back on the conversations around them.  
  
**********  
  
As everyone was moving out of the living room, Toby followed Sam to his car to help him take his suitcases out.  
  
"You lean on it more heavily when you're tired," Toby said softly, gesturing at his cane.  
  
"Yeah." He knew. He didn't need it too often, but he had learned his lessons from his last stay here.  
  
"The way you're clutching it right now, you look like you're going to fall over."  
  
Sam looked down to realize that he was squeezing it so hard, his fingers were white.  
  
"It's not that I'm tired, I just... I was, you know, remembering." That was only a small lie, he was tired, but not to the point where it's either lie down or fall down.  
  
"Thought so. You have this look when you do that."  
  
He knew. "I'm fine," he said, because his friend was probably worried sick right now.  
  
"Sure," Toby said, unconvinced. "I just... you seemed so..."  
  
He didn't finish, and Sam filled in the blanks. Of course, no one had seen him since -  
  
He must have looked awful these days, he knew. After the medics had gone, Sam had called Angela, listening to his own voice explaining what had happened, feeling like he was watching a movie. His cousin had arrived half an hour later, just in time to witness the coroner taking the body away.   
  
Sam should have been hurting, he knew, he should have been screaming in pain, but he just felt numb. She had taken one look at him, had pushed him into his room and ordered him to stay there as she handled the formalities. She had closed the door, and he had found himself alone with Ainsley, and Alex, who was already asleep on their bed. Ainsley had gone to get him while Sam was calling his cousin. Ainsley sat on the bed, staring fixedly at a point on the wall, and he sat next to her, putting a hand on her back. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.  
  
After a few minutes that had felt like centuries to him, there had been a knock on the door, and he had opened. Angela was looking at him, concerned, and he had tried to smile. "They took him away," she had said gently. "I'm calling your Mom, okay? And... who else?"  
  
"Ainsley's parents," he said. "I don't know. I..." His voice broke, and he realized that he couldn't form a coherent thought.  
  
Besides, he didn't give a damn who she called - his parents, her parents, the Pope, none of them would make a difference.  
  
"I'll take care of it, try to sleep, you two," she had said, and he had nodded and closed the door again.  
  
Sleep, yes.   
  
He wouldn't have to remember how cold Ben's body had been if he fell asleep.  
  
He wouldn't have to worry about Ainsley's quietness if he fell asleep.  
  
He could forget if he fell asleep.  
  
The next morning, he had found his pillow wet with tears he didn't remember shedding, then his mother had come in, talking in hushed tones, hugging him, and Angela had needed his advice on the funeral, and Ainsley's parents had arrived, with her siblings, and they had had to take care of Alex, who seemed worryingly withdrawn, and they hadn't had the time to think.  
  
After the funeral, when everyone had come and gone and they had found themselves alone in their house again, then it had hit them. They had been too stunned, too busy, to react before.  
  
Toby had seen him at the funeral, but he hadn't talked to anyone that day, and in hindsight, he realized how that must have worried everyone.  
  
"We're better, Toby. We miss him, of course, but... we're better."  
  
"Good," Toby said.   
  
Of course, there had been three months of a deafening silence between Ainsley and him. Three months of not looking at each other, of not entering Ben's room, of not touching each other in bed, of not sleeping, of just lying there, staring at the ceiling, not knowing what to say.   
  
Later, when they had begun therapy, he found out she was blaming herself for not waking up sooner. "I was his mother, I should have known," she had sobbed.  
  
Ironically, Sam blamed himself. He was a light sleeper, how many times had he taken care of one of the boys before they had had the time to wake Ainsley? And yet, this time, he had slept through his son's death.  
  
He hadn't been able to restart the heart. He had tried, God knew he had tried, and he could still feel the coolness of his son's skin as he was trying to save him.  
  
It hadn't been enough.  
  
He hadn't even been able to comfort Ainsley. He didn't know how to reach out to her, each of his attempts ended awkwardly, with her trying to smile and him not knowing what to tell her, except "Sorry."  
  
They were both so sorry.  
  
They had decided to seek help after four months. He had come back from work late that night, and had found Alex crying in his room and Ainsley sobbing uncontrollably on the couch. It had taken him half an hour to calm her, he had been very close to calling a doctor, but she had finally stopped crying long enough to apologize.  
  
"I didn't mean to," she had said, between hiccups.  
  
"Didn't mean to what?"  
  
"Lose it like that. It's stupid, really."  
  
"What happened?" he had asked.  
  
"I lost my wedding band," she said, beginning to cry again.  
  
He had taken her in his arms, rubbing his back, at a loss. Why was she reacting that way? "We'll buy a new one, honey. It's no big deal," he said softly.  
  
"I know! I know. I was taking my shower, it slipped from my finger, I couldn't catch it..."  
  
She had lost weight recently, Sam noticed. So that probably explained the whole thing. And he still didn't understand what the big deal was.  
  
"I don't know why it seems so bad, I just... I was tired, and when I saw it disappear in the water, I don't know why, I..."  
  
Or maybe he did understand.  
  
He tended to react that way too, at the end of a long day. It wasn't the big things that made him lose it. When Lisa had dumped him, he had been fine until one night, he had gone back to the motel where the staff was staying, somewhere in Massachusetts, and found out he had lost the keys to his room. He had begun to cry in front of his door, feeling like an idiot for doing it, hoping that no one would see him like that.  
  
When the President had told him about the MS, he had begun to lose it when he had found out he didn't have warm water anymore at his place, since his neighbor had used all the reserves.  
  
"I'm sorry," Ainsley sighed. "I didn't react that bad when..."  
  
When Ben had died, she didn't say it, but Sam heard it all the same. And she was wrong of course, she wasn't crying for the ring then, not any more than Sam had grieved for his hotel keys.  
  
It was time they did something, he had thought. They weren't going to make it on their own, not the way they were handling it.   
  
He was worried about her, and he knew she had noticed the way he downed painkillers now, blaming the insomnia on the pain in his leg - which was sometimes true, but most often an exaggeration, he could admit it.  
  
They had found a therapist, a friend of Colleen, someone they knew would be discreet - because even in the midst of the hell they were in, they still had to think about appearances. They had received lots of sympathetic letters, flowers, well-wishes, but Sam knew that as the Governor, he couldn't look too affected by his loss. He had to look in control of his private life as well as in control of the state.  
  
So, they had secretly met the therapist, and had talked it through. And screamed, at each other, at their therapist, at Whoever was in charge, at themselves.  
  
Putting their life back in order had necessitated work, lots of talking, and an energy none of them thought they still possessed, but they were almost there now, Sam knew.  
  
Almost.   
  
Turning back to Toby, who was still looking at him worriedly, he admitted sheepishly, "Well, the therapist we see is pretty good."  
  
Leaving Toby to digest that, Sam turned to the main house, just in time to see Alex come out and run to him.  
  
"Dad! Josh says I can watch an horror movie with him!" he said excitedly, throwing himself into Sam's arms - a dark haired tornado. "Can I, please?" He turned pleading blue eyes to Sam, who sighed and nodded. Alex jumped up and down in excitement, and ran back to the house, shouting, "Uncle Josh! He said I can!"   
  
Sam watched him, smiling slightly.  
  
**********  
  
Later that evening, Sam was enjoying a beer, alone on the porch. Josh was busy convincing everyone that he had been right to call a journalist 'stupid specimen of his stupid race', and CJ was explaining to him that he was just hostile with journalists, always. The debate had amused him for a while, but now he felt a headache creeping on him, and he wanted some quiet.  
  
He heard a door open lightly in his back, and he sighed.  
  
So much for loneliness, then.  
  
"Do you have a minute?" Toby asked.  
  
Sam had a brief laugh. "I'm drinking a beer, Toby, not reading memos."  
  
"Yeah, I... How are you doing?"  
  
Sam looked at him incredulously. "How am I doing?" he asked. "That's what you came to ask? Again?"  
  
He had noticed the worried looks everyone was shooting at him, and at Ainsley, and he hadn't said anything because they had a right to be worried, and they were his friends, and it was nice to see them care. But he was almost sure his former boss wouldn't follow him outside, for the second time that day, just to ask him how he was once again.  
  
The sight of Toby shifting his feet, trying to find a way to bring up whatever he was thinking about, made him frown. "What? Ask me already," he urged, now interested.  
  
"Okay, I... the thing is... Rumor has it you're going to run." He didn't add anything, and Sam stared at him, nonplussed.  
  
"For second term, yeah," he said, "That's not a big surprise."  
  
"No, I meant, for President."  
  
Sam blinked. "What?"  
  
"Well, everyone knows you're going to eventually."  
  
"Then everyone knows better than I do. Of course, I'm thinking about it, but between thinking and doing it... Certainly not in the next election," Sam said firmly.  
  
"Sam, you really could. You'd be running against Ritchie, who, honestly, the people are fed up with, and you're well liked, and - "  
  
"Toby, no," he said, beginning to shiver. He wasn't done dealing with... whatever it was he had to deal with. He needed time.  
  
"But - "  
  
"I don't... It's too soon, I'm not ready for this, and I'm still... we're still... we're trying to get over Ben's death right now, and I don't have any strength to spare on campaigning for something this big. Besides, Hoynes is going to run."  
  
"Great," Toby said sarcastically.  
  
"He'd do good," Sam said. "And... God, Toby, I have enough trouble getting out of bed in the morning as it is. I couldn't... I never envisioned running this soon."  
  
"So you are thinking about it."  
  
"Yeah, I am. Sure. Just, you know, give me time to... I'm just now getting good at being a Governor, Toby."  
  
"You were good already."  
  
"Not like now. Not like... Okay, just give me time is all I'm asking."  
  
Toby studied him a moment, then nodded. "Fine. But for the next elections, I'm asking again."  
  
"Whatever," Sam said. He didn't mind Toby asking again. As long as he had time to think about it.  
  
Sure, he had always thought about it. In theory.   
  
He loved his country, he loved the people who lived in it, and wanted to help them. Once upon a time, he had tried to do so by writing speeches. Now, he did so by trying to govern.  
  
And the place where he would be able to do the most good would be the White House, he knew.  
  
He just didn't think it was time yet.  
  
No, he definitely wasn't ready for that.  
  
Yet. 


	9. Chapter Three : Dark Days Part 2

Warning : Character death  
  
PART TWO  
  
2014, California  
  
"Do you think he'll be here?" Sam asked. "CJ didn't say if he'd be able to come."  
  
Ainsley sighed. He was anxious to see Toby again, she knew. And Donna was coming, too, which was a relief to her. The two women had bonded when Sam was in the hospital - when Donna had come with Josh, then when she had called, regularly, to cheer Ainsley up. She liked her friend, and she hadn't had that many opportunities to talk to her these last few months. She knew, thanks to CJ, that she was doing a lot better. She was slowly adjusting to her life without Josh, and she claimed that there were more good days than bad, now.  
  
She knew Donna had taken it hard. Josh and her had been so happy together. She knew that Donna now regretted the time they had lost pretending to be 'normal coworkers', not daring to make a move for fear that it would change the way they were.  
  
Ainsley had once overheard Sam talking to Donna on the phone. He had obviously been trying to comfort the young woman. "You know, I've never had that kind of relationship with any of the assistants I had," he was saying. "Donna, the two of you didn't need to date overtly to be in love. You just... were. You didn't lose any time, believe me."  
  
From the face he wore when he finally hung up, she guessed that Donna hadn't reacted the way he had hoped she would.  
  
Ainsley and Sam had been able to be present at the wedding - it had been a close thing, too, since a strike was paralyzing the state. Sam had had to be present during the negotiations, which had finally led to a settlement a few hours before their plane was to take off.   
  
It had been a beautiful wedding. All the gang was there, the bride was beautiful, the groom was, well, Josh - which meant that he had wrinkles in his tux, and his hair was hopelessly muffled, and he had the biggest smile she had ever seen him when Donna's father had led her down the aisle.  
  
He had also managed to stammer while saying his vows, and that had made everybody laugh. The fearless attack dog of the Bartlet administration, stammering at his own wedding.   
  
They all missed him. Sam was staring at the waves, crashing on the sand a few feet from them, and she knew he was thinking that Josh should have been on that meeting. He should have been here with them, arguing with Toby and CJ, trying to convince Sam to go his way.  
  
Speaking of CJ, she could hear the voice of the former press secretary approaching.   
  
"For crying out loud, Toby, it's sand. You can take off your shoes."  
  
"I don't think I will. Why the hell did Sam want us to meet here, anyway?"  
  
Sam turned to her and winked. She knew why he had. He wanted to annoy Toby.  
  
"Because it's beautiful out there?" CJ guessed.  
  
"No, it's because he wanted to annoy me," Toby answered.  
  
"You're always so over dramatic," Sam said, smiling to Toby and CJ as they arrived, followed closely by Donna.  
  
"A beach?" Toby growled.  
  
"We'll have fresh air, sun, the sound of the waves... It'll be inspiring. Besides, it's the first time I've been able to come to Los Angeles in months, and I missed it."  
  
Ainsley observed them from her place, amused, as she always was, that even though they didn't see each other all that often anymore, they always resumed their relationship as if they had seen each other the day before.  
  
"Well, it better be inspiring. You've got quite a few problems to tackle, here," Toby said.  
  
As if they didn't all know that.  
  
"I know," Sam said easily. "That's why I asked you to come." Then he paused, as if struck by an idea. "Wait, you'll help on the campaign, right?" he asked, a light in his eyes.  
  
"You're asking now that we flew here?" Donna laughed, and she threw herself in his arms before turning to Ainsley. "Men," she said, rolling her eyes.  
  
She looked better. Not happy, yet, but definitely not like she had a few months before.  
  
"Will your staff be on it too?" CJ asked, getting down to business.  
  
"The ones that count. But they're not used to working on national level, so I'd really appreciate - "  
  
"We get it, that's why we're here," she said. "And hey, at least, most of the skeletons in your closet have been outed in the last gubernatorial course, haven't they?"  
  
"Let's hope so," Sam said.  
  
He looked skeptical, though. Ainsley and he knew how easily journalists could manufacture a scandal, twist the facts to make them look bad - destroy a career or make it.  
  
They had learned that early on.  
  
**********  
  
2010, California  
  
Sam's first gubernatorial campaign had been marked by the press unburying old stories - Laurie and the President's MS being the more damaging ones.  
  
The second time, perhaps to be innovative, as Ainsley sarcastically put it, they focussed their attacks on his staff, and, more specifically, on his speechwriter, Jim, who had met a man a few months before. The two had ended up in bed, but unfortunately, Jim's partner wasn't looking for romance, but for money. He had taken Jim to his place, and arranged for a friend to take pictures, some of them as they were leaving the bar where they had met, others while they were kissing in Jim's car and others during... during.  
  
When Jim had woken up, the guy was gone, and there was a note. "I'll call you."  
  
He had called, at the end of the week, and asked to see him again. Jim had hoped that maybe the guy just wanted another date. No such luck; he had been shown the pictures that had been taken, and been offered a choice: pay or they go to the press.  
  
Jim had paid.  
  
Then paid some more, when his 'date' had asked for more.  
  
It had gone on for a few weeks, until Jim had finally gathered the courage to talk to Peter, who had talked to Colleen, who had yelled, taken two aspirins, and called a friend of hers, working in the police, who owed her and would be discreet.  
  
Sam learned about all that when Jim requested a few minutes of his time. He explained everything, and Sam fleetingly wondered how he would have reacted, all those years ago, if Laurie hadn't been an honest woman who just happened to be a call-girl. What if there had been pictures?  
  
"You should have gone to Pete right away," he told Jim when he stopped speaking.  
  
"I know."  
  
"We would have handled it."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I didn't know you were gay."  
  
"I'm bi. I'd never dated men since I began working for you. He just... he seemed sympathetic. I trusted him."  
  
Sam could understand that, oh so well.  
  
"I'm sorry I lied."  
  
"I'm sorry you lied, too," Sam said tiredly. At the look of near panic on the other man's face, he added quickly, "I won't fire you over this, but it's gonna get ugly. For you. And I'm not sure there's a way to avoid that."  
  
"But the campaign..." Jim said  
  
Sam shrugged. "We'll drop a few points, there will be people to scream at us because we let a gay man work at a high position, some others won't appreciate that you didn't come out earlier, we'll spin it, we'll move on," he predicted.   
  
Jim looked at him, his eyes like saucers. Sam smiled. "Look, President Bartlet was re-elected after having disclosed that he had MS and had concealed it. I'm sure your being gay won't hurt me all that much. This said..." He hesitated and looked at the younger man thoughtfully. "That's your call. If you stay here, you won't be able to hide and wait until the worst of the storm is over."  
  
Jim thought for a moment, his eyes staring at the floor, then looked at him, frightened and determined at the same time. "I love it here," he said.  
  
Sam smiled. "Okay. Call the people you want to warn by yourself. Colleen told me that you had stopped paying, he shouldn't wait too long before going to a journalist."  
  
"Yes, Governor."  
  
"Try to sleep tonight, it may be your last chance in a while."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
The story hit the fan two days later. The pictures were published, and Jim, after answering the press questions as if they weren't about the most intimate details of his love life, ended up sobbing in his office later in the day. His parents were going to see these pictures, he told Colleen when she found him. His friends, everyone he knew was going to see the pictures.  
  
There wasn't much they could do for the young man, Sam discovered. They could support him, say that he had decided not to cave in to blackmail, that being gay, or bisexual, was his right, that none of this tainted the fact that he did excellent work.  
  
They couldn't stop the press from publishing the pictures, they couldn't stop the people from looking at them.  
  
They couldn't stop all the people who wrote, or called the office to ask why 'that man' was still working there.  
  
There were days when Sam hated his job.  
  
**********  
  
2014  
  
Donna had gone away to watch the waves, and Sam went to her.  
  
"Are you sure that walking on sand is good for your leg?" she asked.  
  
He shrugged lightly. "Worst case scenario, Ains' will have to give me a massage tonight," he winked.  
  
She laughed sharply. "So you had a secret agenda, asking us to come here?"   
  
"Well, as far as you're concerned, I sure had," he said, and she raised an eyebrow. "How are you?"  
  
"Better. It's... I still cry sometimes."  
  
He sometimes cried over the loss of Ben, too. On his birthday, on the day he had died, on the day he had learned Ainsley was pregnant with him. Christmas, New Year's Eve. Those were days he dreaded, days he immersed himself in his work. Ainsley spent these days outside, doing... something, anything not to think. Then at night, they cried in each other's arms and fell asleep, thinking that it was yet another day of remembrance passed.   
  
He didn't think it would comfort Donna to know that. At least Ainsley and him were together. Donna had found herself alone after Josh's death. They had never had the time to have kids. "We kept pushing back," she had once told him. "There was always something else on the agenda. Then..."  
  
Then the phone had rung.  
  
**********  
  
2011, California  
  
Their January-the-1st phone calls had become a tradition soon after Josh's first epiphany. They mostly told each other what they had done the night before, then gave grief to each other, mocking their respective resolutions.  
  
"I'll try not to work that hard," Josh was vouching that year, and Sam couldn't help but laugh. They were all workaholics, and that was a promise they made each year, and never even tried to keep.  
  
"Yeah, right, find something else," he said.  
  
"I... hum... I'll be more attentive to Donna's needs."   
  
Sam could picture the way his friend had brightened at that. His eyes always lit up whenever he was talking about his wife. "She just entered the room, didn't she?"  
  
"Hey," Josh said indignantly, "I can make these kinds of promises without being coerced into doing so."  
  
Sam heard Donna's voice shouting something, but couldn't make out the words. He could guess, though. "You were saying?" he snickered.  
  
"What are * you * going to do?" Josh countered.  
  
He thought for a while, then proposed "I'll try not to be so overprotective with Alex."  
  
"To quote someone famous, 'Yeah, right, find something else', Sam."  
  
He was right, and Sam didn't insist. "I'll... hum... try to be less obsessive when it comes to speeches my staff crafts for me."  
  
"You will?" He seemed doubtful, as was Ainsley, who was sitting in front of him, waiting for her chance to talk to Donna.  
  
"I said I'd try," he said. "And I think our wives want to have a chat, Mister Attentive."  
  
"You're still coming, right?"  
  
"We'll be there in two weeks," he promised before Ainsley grabbed the phone away from him.  
  
"Donna? How much did Josh drink this year?"  
  
**********  
  
Nine days later, the phone rang in the middle of the night.  
  
Sam took it and mumbled a vague "Yeah."   
  
"Sam, it's me."  
  
"CJ?" he asked, sitting up.  
  
He'd gotten used to being woken up in the middle of the night in the last few years - one of the drawbacks of his job - but there was something in CJ's voice that made him instantly realize that something was very wrong.  
  
"Look, Sam..."  
  
He felt a lump form in his throat and swallowed convulsively. This wasn't going to be good. "What?"  
  
"Sam, there's been a - " She stopped, and began again: "I'm with Donna, right now, and the thing is, Josh was... he had to go to the store because they didn't have coffee anymore, and there was a robbery at the store, and the guy got out and Josh was... he was in the way, Sam... and it seems, the police thinks he panicked, and he shot Josh."  
  
He had closed his eyes somewhere during her rant. "Which hospital?" he asked, knowing that she would already have told him if he was alive, but refusing to hear it.  
  
Ainsley had awoken and she sat up next to him and put her arms around his waist, obviously alarmed by his voice.  
  
"Sam..." CJ began, and her voice broke.  
  
"Which one?" he asked pleadingly, thinking, "Please, please, don't let it be serious, don't let Josh be..."   
  
CJ's voice cut through his thoughts. "Sam, God, I'm so sorry I have to tell you this... Josh was very seriously hurt, Sam. He... The ambulance was there really fast, and the medics tried. They really did, but - "  
  
"Which hospital?" he insisted, beginning to feel light-headed and fighting the urge to hang up on her, to avoid hearing the words that he was sure would come and make it final.   
  
"Sam, he didn't make it," CJ finally said. "He's dead."  
  
He wanted to argue, to tell her that it was impossible, that he had talked to him, that they'd joked about the fact that he had gotten drunk and embarrassed himself on New Year's Eve, that Josh * couldn't * be dead, but he knew perfectly well that she wouldn't have called him if she hadn't been sure.  
  
"Sam?" CJ asked cautiously.  
  
"How's Donna?" he managed.  
  
"The doctors gave her something, she's resting now. I'm busy calling, you know, everyone. You're... I thought... You're the first one I called, because..." Her voice broke and he sighed.   
  
"I'll call a few people if you want me to."  
  
"Sam, his mother... I tried, I almost dialed the number a few times, but I can't."  
  
He was about to suggest that she call Leo - he was the one who knew her the best - but then he realized that Josh was kind of his son, too. And President Bartlet, who'd told them once that they were the sons he had never had. Maybe they should call Abbey first, but Sam knew Leo would prefer if it was coming from one of them. Donna was always the one they turned to in crisis, but this time, she was the one in need.   
  
God, Josh, he thought.  
  
"Sam, you're still there?"  
  
"Yeah. Call Toby, he'll come into DC right away."  
  
She gave a small gasp. "Yeah. I... God, Sam, he's going to - "  
  
"CJ," he interrupted gently, "None of these calls are going to be easy. You deal with Toby, I'll call Leo and the Bartlets and ask them what we do about Mrs Lyman. Someone will have to call the assistants, too."  
  
"I'll ask Toby," CJ muttered.  
  
"OK. I'll call you back in, say, an hour."  
  
"Yes. Sam, I didn't want to give the impression that it was, you know, easy, to call you first. You're just... You..."  
  
"I know, CJ, it's okay. Give my love to Donna if she wakes up."  
  
"I will. Sam?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I love you."  
  
"Love you too, Ceej. Talk to you later."  
  
He never knew if she added something, he just hung up and sat there. Somewhere during the conversation, he didn't know when, Ainsley had turned on the lights, and she was rubbing his back silently. "Sam?"  
  
"Josh is dead," he said flatly.  
  
"I had gathered that."  
  
"I need to make some calls."  
  
"Okay," she said, not stopping the rubbing.  
  
"I better do it now," he added, not moving, and her head came to rest on his shoulder.  
  
"I'll stay with you," she muttered.  
  
**********  
  
Two days after that, they were attending what Sam would always remember as one of the worst funerals of his life.  
  
He hated funerals. It had been two years since his son had died, and he had vaguely hoped that he would never have to bury someone close to him ever again.  
  
No luck there.  
  
He didn't remember Ben's funeral at all, except from a few images here and there, but Josh's stayed engraved in his mind.   
  
Marjorie Lyman barely reacted as people came to her, presenting their condolences. Leo had been the one to call her after all - Sam had volunteered, but Leo had refused to hear any of it, and he had to admit that he was glad the older man accepted to be the one to do it. He felt like a coward for letting him do that, but on the other hand, oh, how he had been grateful not to have to be the one who would announce to the old woman that she had survived her two children and a husband.  
  
Leo had been in Manchester with the Bartlets when Sam had called, so he hadn't had to repeat the story too many times, which was a good thing since it took him a good ten minutes of tap dancing around the bad news to finally get it out.  
  
And there, in the synagogue, surrounded by Josh's relatives and friends, he still couldn't believe it. How could something like that have happened?  
  
He had assumed that lightning wouldn't strike twice. After Rosslyn, he'd thought they had paid enough. He'd obviously been very wrong. And now Josh was dead, killed by an anonymous robber who had managed to do what the Virginia White Pride hadn't been able to. And he'd died alone, on a dark parking lot, and that thought alone was almost unbearable.  
  
President Bartlet got up to say a few words at the request of the Rabbi. Donna buried her head in Sam's shoulder. She'd taken a grab of his hand this morning and she wasn't letting go, which was just fine with him. Ainsley, on his right, was squeezing his hand with all her (considerable) might, and that was good with him, too.  
  
He tried to listen to what Bartlet had to say, gave up when the former President talked about the first day he had met Josh, and let his thoughts wander.  
  
**********  
  
Later that day, everyone had gathered in Marjorie's house. Sam was trying very hard not to look at all the framed pictures of Josh on the walls.   
  
After a while, unable to stand the sad faces any longer, he sneaked out and went out to walk on the grass for a while. Bartlet startled him. "You OK, son?"  
  
"Yes, sir," he choked out.  
  
"Yes, I can see that," Bartlet sarcastically replied. "And when will you stop calling me 'Sir', Governor?" Sam smiled weakly and Bartlet nodded. "Seriously, how do you feel, Sam?"  
  
He shrugged. "It hasn't sunk in, yet," he admitted. "And I'm not particularly looking forward to the moment it will. You?"  
  
"Same way. It's just... He had to go like that? And so soon? I know you don't like hearing it, but god, you're all so young, yet."  
  
There was a time when Sam didn't like hearing that, but he didn't mind that much anymore. Mostly because it was true. "I know," he sighed.   
  
"It's ridiculous, really," Bartlet added. "Leo, me, even Josh's mother... we should be the ones you all bury, not the other way around."  
  
Sam remembered what his own father had told him, shortly after Ben's funeral. "It's not the way it should be. The young bury the old, not the other way around."  
  
The silence stretched on for a while and he finally admitted "I'm not sure what to do next."  
  
"Next as in today, or next as in..."  
  
"Next as in after Josh," he clarified. They didn't even live in the same state anymore and until then, he hadn't realized how much they still influenced each other's life - how much Josh was still part of his. Even when they weren't talking to each other, they had gravitated around each other, always aware that the other was there, somewhere. How was he going to stop thinking about calling his friend each time something big happened to him?  
  
"Neither do I."  
  
They stayed there for a while, and Sam let memories float in his mind until he began to laugh slightly at one of them.   
  
"Want to share?" Bartlet asked.  
  
"I was just recalling the day he came to get me in New York."  
  
"That's true, he's the one who brought you on board," Bartlet mused. "I should have thanked him for that."  
  
"He stood there, dripping water on the carpet - the very expensive carpet, I should add - and with the biggest smile ever on his face. And I knew he had found - "  
  
He suddenly stopped, not knowing if Bartlet ever knew how much he'd meant to them.  
  
"The real thing," Bartlet sighed.  
  
"I'm sorry. We added pressure, there, didn't we?"  
  
"Why, not at all, Governor," he replied sarcastically. "You just gave me the impression that I was your Grail, an idol, someone who couldn't possibly do anything wrong."  
  
They had, but that's what they had felt, too.  
  
"I'm sorry about the lies," Bartlet added suddenly.  
  
Sam tried to stop him from talking, but Bartlet motioned for him to shut up, and he did.  
  
"I'm sorry I betrayed you all. I had my reasons for lying. Some were good, some bad, but Sam, you have to believe that I didn't mean any harm. But I was wrong when I refused to apologize for lying, for not acknowledging that I had dragged people into my problems. I just... I honestly didn't think we'd win. In fact, I wouldn't have won without you guys. When they called the election, the die was cast, and I thought that it would never go too far, that I'd govern for four years and let Hoynes take over. I'm sorry, I... miscalculated."  
  
Sam nodded. He knew more about compromising than he had before. He knew more about how leaders were also human beings - fragile, prone to mistakes sometimes, arrogant most of the time. And, sometimes, blinded by their desire to do good.  
  
He would always think that Bartlet had been wrong, but now, he didn't see him as his hope for a new, better life. Now, he saw Bartlet as a human - someone who had tried his best, like they all did.  
  
Now, he could forgive.  
  
"I know you are," he said. "And for what it's worth, I've long since stopped being mad."  
  
Bartlet nodded. "Good."  
  
Sam's thoughts went back to Josh - how his friend had battled to make Bartlet stay in the White House, back then. Had his friend known all along, that their leader was just human? Or had he just adapted more quickly than Sam had?  
  
"Sam? What are you thinking?"  
  
"Josh," he said simply.   
  
Bartlet chuckled. "The two of you were so... There were days I feared for Washington, you know? When you were on a crusade, you could be truly terrifying."  
  
"That bad?" Sam grimaced. He still clung to his ideals but he had long since stopped hoping he would single handedly change the world. Now, he was learning how to surround himself with people who would be able to help him do that.  
  
"Oh, yes," he laughed. "The two of you are - "  
  
He stopped abruptly, and whatever peace Sam and him had found disappeared.  
  
They were going to have to talk about Josh in past tense, now, Sam thought. Right then, it only seemed bittersweet. It's only later that he would remember this conversation as the moment Josh's death had begun to sink in.  
  
**********  
  
2014, California  
  
Leaving Donna near the water, Sam went back to the others who were arguing the pros and cons of talking about Sam's days as a Bartlet staffer.  
  
"Forget it," Sam said.  
  
"It's an asset, Sam. People have forgotten the MS, they remember that he was a good president, they - "  
  
"Toby, I don't want to be that guy."  
  
"What guy? The one who actually knows what it's like inside the Oval?"  
  
"The guy who uses the shadow of a famous man to be elected."  
  
"It's not like that."  
  
"If I do that, they'll expect another Bartlet. They'll compare me to him. They'll expect me to follow in his steps. I don't want that pressure."  
  
The others seemed to ponder that, and Ainsley shot him a smile.  
  
He knew, oh he knew, that for all his flaws, Bartlet was revered by most of his former staff.  
  
Not by him, it was as simple at that. Oh, Sam admired and loved the man. He thought he had done a good job as a President, despite all the mistakes and the missed opportunities. He also thought he wouldn't go down in history as anything but 'the President who had lied about his MS', and it saddened him, because he deserved better. He thought that something had held Bartlet back - his fear of losing, maybe. His fear of not being re elected.   
  
He knew the older man was beginning to regret it now.  
  
All the more reason he didn't want to emphasize his involvement in the administration. If he did that, it would feel too much like stepping up to fulfil his father's dreams.  
  
This campaign was his. And Ainsley's.  
  
This was his thing, his dream, his hope, his ambition, whatever.  
  
Not Bartlet's.  
  
He hoped the older man would find peace eventually, but he had had his shot.   
  
"We'll talk more about it," Toby said, and Ainsley muttered something that no one quite caught, but that sounded suspiciously like "Let him rest in peace already."  
  
Sam sighed.  
  
This was going to be a long campaign indeed.  
  
Maybe he still had the time to change his mind and run for governor again?  
  
Not that running for Governor had been a walk in the park. And then, there had been election night.  
  
Sam hated those ...  
  
**********  
  
2010, California  
  
Sam wasn't enjoying election night. Not at all. He was too busy pacing the floor of his office, calculating who was going to win the Presidential election, and whether Charlie would win his seat in Senate.  
  
With CJ and Toby in New York, Josh and Donna in Washington, and the Bartlets in New Hampshire, the conversation was lively. The six of them were speculating, cutting each other off, taking it almost as much to heart as if they had worked on the campaign. Sam strongly suspected that the others would have loved to be asked, no matter what their feelings for Hoynes were.  
  
Ainsley had come to sit with him, not bothering to hide her smirk as Hoynes lost California.  
  
Sam finally decided to hang up, telling the others that he had speeches to go over and a republican wife who was enjoying their conversation way too much for his taste.  
  
"I'm sorry," he told her afterwards. "I keep forgetting that we're not, you know, on the same side on this."   
  
She looked at him in the dangerous way he had come to recognize over the years. "Not on the same side?" she asked softly.  
  
Ouch. Soft Ainsley was never a good sign.  
  
"I meant that, well, you're a republican, and I'm not, so..."  
  
"So, you still assume that I'm faithful to the party line, no matter what?" she asked.  
  
"Well - "  
  
"I voted for Hoynes," she said, and he gulped.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why? Because Ritchie is an idiot and I don't want him as the leader of my country anymore. Sam, the economy hadn't been as bad as it is right now for a decade, and there's conservative, and then there's conservative, you know? Just because he's a republican doesn't mean I'll vote automatically for him. I like what Hoynes is trying to do. That's all there is to it."  
  
"Okay. I just..." He sat down. "We've known each other for so long now, that I sometimes forget that we started out as enemies."  
  
"Ferocious ones," she agreed seriously, and he raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Okay, now you're just mocking me."  
  
"Sam, you've come to see my way on some issues, and I can't tell you how glad I was when you agreed with me on some of them, and I've come to think like you on some issues. Does it always have to be about partisanship? Can't we... aren't there times when both our parties are right, and you just happen to agree with one of them and not the other?" She paused to take a breath, and her tone softened. "You're the one who taught me that, in case you've forgotten. You're the one who accepted to debate with me, to not dismiss my opinions because they didn't match yours."  
  
"I guess so," he admitted. "But there are issues we'll never agree on."  
  
"Yeah. Like every couple."  
  
"I had actually considered that," he said.  
  
She mock applauded him. "What a great thinker you are," she laughed.  
  
"Okay, now you're just mocking me," he repeated, and she laughed harder.  
  
"You're just tired, honey," she said. "You'd never have started that conversation otherwise."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Because you've known all that for a long time," she finished, leaning in to kiss him.  
  
They were still kissing when the presidential election was called for Hoynes and the phone rang, asking for Sam to go back to the headquarters, as the results were about to be announced.  
  
**********  
  
2014  
  
"So where are we?" Donna asked, coming back from the shore and throwing herself on the sand, ignoring the glare Toby shot her when sand flied on his legal pad.  
  
"Toby is trying to convince Sam to fire his speechwriting staff," CJ sighed.  
  
"Oh God."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"They're good," Sam insisted.  
  
"They're young," Toby answered, in the same tone.  
  
"Well, so were we once, you grumpy old schmutz," Sam growled.   
  
The campaign would be a long one, he thought, especially if he had to keep his staff safe from Toby's wrath.  
  
"Grumpy old schmutz?"  
  
"That's what I said," Sam answered.  
  
"You've been hanging around with CJ a little too much... Robin."  
  
He grimaced at this nickname. "That's Governor to you, Bruce," he answered. He had been trying to sound terse, but it came out as petulant.  
  
Great, just the image of professionalism he wanted to give...  
  
"Men," Donna muttered.  
  
Sam shrugged, and gave up when he saw CJ and Ainsley laughing softly.  
  
"Whatever," he said, trying to derail the conversation before he lost all dignity - hoping it wasn't too late. "What now?" 


	10. Chapter Three : Dark Days Part 3

PART THREE  
  
2014, Election night  
  
Sam, unable to take the waiting anymore, slipped away from the room everyone had assembled in and got back to his room, on the same floor, trying not to flinch as his stomach tied up in knots regularly.  
  
He was about to enter when Toby's voice startled him. "Tell me you're not thinking of bailing out on us."  
  
"I'm not," he said defensively. "I'm, hum, they're getting loud, I can't focus down there."  
  
"Yeah, I know. It's still close, we won't know until the end."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"What the hell were you thinking, pushing me to do this?" Sam hissed, giving up all pretense of serenity.  
  
Toby shrugged. "You'll do great."  
  
"Sure. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I'd be that disappointed if I lost."  
  
"Sam..." Toby tried, but he waved him away. He didn't want to hear it.  
  
He was scared like he had never been before.  
  
What the hell had he been thinking when he had agreed to run?  
  
He wasn't President material, it was ridiculous.  
  
If only the others had tried to discourage him at least, maybe he wouldn't be in such a mess.  
  
But, no, they had been the ones to come see him.  
  
They had arrived, on a sunny morning of 2012, and they had had * the * talk, the one Toby had promised him on a cold evening in New Hampshire, and now, he was here, waiting to see if he would soon be called 'POTUS'.  
  
Why the hell had he said 'yes'?  
  
**********  
  
2012, California  
  
"So how are you?" Sam asked, motioning for Toby and CJ to sit down.  
  
"Oh, same old. I sell soup to the average people," CJ said agreeably, and Sam rolled his eyes. She had decided to stay away from Washington after Josh's death, and had found a job, as a consultant for one of the biggest marketing firms of the country. Everyone knew she would never be happy doing that, but she claimed that politics didn't hold the same appeal to her that it had before.  
  
Toby had told Sam, a few days after CJ had begun her new job, that she was waiting for the right opportunity to come back. "Should we talk about it now?" he had asked.  
  
Sam was still busy savoring his re-election victory, and convincing Jim that the scandal hadn't changed his place in the team, and he had pleaded, "Not yet."  
  
He had eight more years now, anyway, he thought. Let Hoynes deal with the White House for his two terms, then we'll see.  
  
Toby hadn't insisted.  
  
Sam had the feeling that it wouldn't be so easy this time. It was early to make a decision, but they needed to get it in the open, then he would have to have a talk with Ainsley and Alex, and consider his options, his chances, and how he was going to handle it.   
  
"So, what brings you here?" he asked.  
  
"We need a reason?" CJ teased.  
  
"Never," he sincerely said. "But I notice we tend to see each other only at great events, so I assumed - "  
  
"You're right," Toby said bluntly. "Sam, President Hoynes isn't going to run again. We want you to do it."  
  
If Toby had wanted to make an impression, he'd been successful. The silence that followed was almost deafening. Ainsley got to her feet and muttered something about coffee and cookies and left the room hurriedly.  
  
Once she was gone, CJ elbowed Toby. "Great job, Grouchy ! You scared her off. Not to mention Sam, who's turning blue because he has forgotten how to breathe."  
  
He smiled tiredly at her attempt at humor, but he was too busy thinking of the implications to really care. Hoynes wouldn't run? Hoynes would have been the DNC candidate, it would have made his life much more complicated to run against him, and he had half expected to be advised to wait another four years.  
  
"You've had time to think, Sam," Toby pointed out calmly, reminding him of the discussion they had had.  
  
Yes, he had.  
  
It was early, but they really did have to talk.  
  
Once Ainsley was back, smiling sheepishly and without coffee, she asked, "How do you even know the President - "  
  
"He told us."  
  
"Anna," Sam guessed, and they both nodded grimly. The First Lady's fight against depression was well known. Her health must have been worsening again.  
  
"He'll announce it officially after the midterms, so this is of course a secret," CJ said.  
  
"So all Washington knows it already," Sam guessed, and Toby smiled at that.  
  
"Yes, but they don't know we're here today. I lived in New York, CJ was presumably out of the loop for the last months, they don't know we're still aware of the comings and goings. Hoynes told us that in a very public party, so officially, we don't know anything."  
  
"He wanted to give you time to prepare before he goes public with it," CJ finished.  
  
"He told you that?" That was surprising.  
  
"Of course. Sam, everyone knows you're going to run sooner or later. And..."  
  
"And it better be sooner, when I still have the energy to do it," he completed.  
  
"Pretty much."  
  
"Oh God," he moaned, and in hindsight, he supposed that summed it up pretty well.  
  
**********  
  
One week later he had spoken to Ainsley, Alex, Jed Bartlet, and Hoynes. The latter two had managed to convince him that running was a good idea and the former had given their approval, Alex a little more reluctantly than his mother. Sam knew that his freedom would be limited if he was elected, and as a teenager, that wasn't something his son would take well.  
  
He had then set up a top secret meeting with Colleen, Pete and Jim, the ones he trusted most, the ones he was sure he wanted on board, and had told them what was happening, and that he wanted them to work for him on the campaign, trying to remain calm when Peter asked him three times in a row whether he was really sure he needed him.   
  
God, he was young, Sam had thought then. Had he ever been that young?  
  
As he had promised, Hoynes announced he would be retiring at the end of his first term three weeks after the midterms, and Sam let a few more weeks go by, then launched his campaign.  
  
Toby and CJ came to live in California a few months before the election, to give a hand with the campaign.  
  
They also made a few polls, and their trouble began.  
  
"Your numbers are in the boundaries we were expecting," CJ said after she had analyzed the data.  
  
"But?"  
  
"We're gonna have to do something for Ainsley."  
  
"Oh God," he sighed, feeling a headache creeping on him.  
  
"She's republican," Toby pointed out.  
  
Colleen watched them, slightly amused. Sam and her had had this discussion already, and it hadn't been pretty.  
  
"Yes, as she has always been."  
  
"Sam, the public just doesn't understand why she doesn't simply register as a democrat."  
  
"Because she's a republican," Sam explained as if he was talking to a two year old. "Toby, she has her convictions - "  
  
"And the public doesn't understand why she doesn't share yours," his friend went on. "It wouldn't be so bad if she didn't claim them, but Sam, she's been known to go on a talk show and tell the presenter that you were full of crap for preaching about gun control."  
  
Sam almost smiled. He was so used to their disagreements now that he barely even noticed when they were arguing. She helped him see the other side sometimes. She kept him awake, she kept him careful, and she made sure he always considered both sides of an issue before making a decision.  
  
Couldn't the American people take that as an asset?  
  
"And here we go," Toby groused, "Idealist Sam The Return."  
  
Sam frowned. "Okay, let's get a few things straight. I am not, under any circumstances, asking my wife to change the way she thinks, or to shut up until I'm elected. We'll have to make the people understand that."  
  
"There's another thing," CJ asked, obviously trying to stay away from the topic for now. "They don't see her as... how shall I put it... First Lady material. She's always managed to work, even during your two terms here, she's, well..."  
  
"What, they have a problem because she wears professional clothes?" Sam asked, before seeing CJ nod. "Oh, for crying... CJ, she's not going to wear long pink dresses to appear more feminine."  
  
"I know," CJ said. "And... pink dresses?"  
  
Sam blushed and shrugged. "Never mind. What else?"  
  
"Well, there's the matter of your wedding," Colleen stepped in.  
  
"Great," he sighed.  
  
"She was two months pregnant when you got married - "  
  
"It was bad planning on our part, what the hell do you want us to do?" he asked, exasperated. "Go back in time? It's done, now."  
  
"But you're not the usual couple. You never were."  
  
"The fact that we're still married, after ten years, doesn't count, then?" he asked, and took in the faces of his staff. "Thought so," he muttered.   
  
"We don't have to deal with all this just now," CJ cautioned. "We just brought this up because it wouldn't be a bad idea to keep the problem in mind, and think about it. Maybe we'll find a way to change the image the public has of the two of you."  
  
"Let's hope so," Sam said, not convinced he wanted his and Ainsley's image to change.  
  
**********  
  
He had had to compromise, to an extent.  
  
The hardest thing had been to get the public past what Sam had done as a Bartlet staffer, past his wedding, and the Laurie case was brought up again, as everyone had expected.  
  
What had been more damaging to the campaign had been Sam's position on the death penalty. He was strongly opposed to it, and he was called on that several times. His opponent reminded the public that Sam had pardoned several inmates, and Sam had told them loud and clear, that he wouldn't act differently as the President.  
  
Some of his hardest fights with Toby had been on that matter.  
  
"Sam, you have to show that you're open to argument," Toby bellowed.  
  
"I am. I'm just not going to change my mind."  
  
"They'll say it's because you don't want to do the dirty job," Toby said.  
  
"They won't be 100% wrong."  
  
"They'll equate it with your ability to send soldiers to their death if need be."  
  
"Then, I'll have to explain the difference between a cold blooded execution and a war, Toby. And I'll have to recite the statistics of the crime rate in countries applying the death penalty, as opposed to countries who don't."  
  
"Sam, you live in a country where a large amount of people are in favor of - "  
  
"I don't care, Toby. The duty of government is also to educate the citizens, and damn it, I'll do that. And if the only place I'll be able to do that is the campaign, then so be it."  
  
"You won't change the way they think in a few months. At least, wait until the election is over."  
  
"Yes, and then we'll be in office, and you'll tell me about numbers, and I'll listen to you, and... That's a compromise I'm just not going to make, Toby."  
  
Toby had argued. Then argued some more.  
  
Then he had sent CJ, and Colleen, to try and change his mind.  
  
Then he had sat down, resigned to the fact that Sam wasn't going to cave in, and he had designed a strategy.  
  
**********  
  
2014, Sam's room  
  
A knock on the door startled Sam. Ainsley poked her head in.  
  
"It shouldn't be long, now," she said.  
  
He nodded, his hands getting cold with the fear.  
  
It was annoying, the way his hands seemed to freeze over each time he was anxious.  
  
It had happened before, the day of the debate.  
  
"Sam, you okay?"  
  
He smiled. "Yeah, I just... there's a little too much adrenaline floating down there," he said.  
  
She could only agree. The people who weren't shouting in their phones to get better estimates were busy going over drafts of the speech that would never be used anyway, the good versions having been locked hours before. There were people everywhere, staring at TV sets, biting their nails, crossing fingers.  
  
She was feeling a little overwhelmed herself.  
  
The level of noise suddenly exploded, music filled the room, coming from the common room, and Sam blanched.  
  
"Guess they called it then," he said flatly.  
  
**********  
  
A few weeks earlier   
  
Sam and Ainsley were waiting backstage, five minutes away from the presidential debate broadcast. He was fidgeting his ring, the only external sign of nervousness he displayed.  
  
Toby was pacing the room, CJ was shooting him annoyed looks, and all was well with the world, Ainsley thought. Colleen came in. "They said to get ready, sir," she said, addressing Sam, who gulped and nodded jerkily. Jim and Pete, who had been in the room with them, left then, shaking hands with Sam, their serious, grave composure doing little to lighten the mood.  
  
CJ hugged Sam and left, dragging Toby before he had the time to begin talking about language again. Colleen began to shake his hand before hugging him. She looked slightly surprised when she let him go, and he smiled. "Don't forget to shoot me if I begin talking about Medcare," he said.  
  
"The Secret Services would frown on that, but I'll do my best," she said efficiently before leaving the room.  
  
"Do you think I should be worried that she took this literally?" Sam asked lightly.  
  
Ainsley laughed. "I don't think she's the one you should be worried about," she said. "Remember, Toby is in the room."  
  
"Right. Wish me luck?"  
  
She nodded and kissed him, surprised to feel his lips so dry. When she took his hands, they were cold as ice.  
  
"You're terrified," she exclaimed.  
  
"Well, I'm going on TV. For a debate," he pointed out. "It's big."  
  
"You want something?"  
  
He shook his head and smiled reassuringly. "You don't look all that reassured yourself," he noted gently.  
  
"I'm moral support," she said past the lump in her throat. She was almost as scared as he was sometimes. Thankfully, they rarely balked at the same time, and one of them could usually reassure the other.  
  
Not today, though.  
  
A knock on the door startled them and they got out, to be escorted to the stage, adrenaline helping them to go forward, always forward, until a hand stopped Ainsley and Sam went on alone, taking his place on the stage, under the spotlights.  
  
**********  
  
Later that night, Toby was annoying them with his post-debate analysis as the rest of them partied.  
  
"We haven't won," Toby said, for the hundredth time this night.  
  
"We haven't lost either," Sam pointed out. "We've always known that it would be a race. Billings isn't stupid, and he did make good points. In the end, all this will come down to whom the American people likes best, and whom they agree with the most."  
  
"And let's not forget the trust factor, and the fact that Bartlet is still well liked. People remember who we were," CJ added.  
  
Ainsley didn't miss Sam's grimace. He was tired of being compared to his former mentor. He was grateful for the opportunity he had had to work in the White House, and he knew it had taught him a lot, but he had made his way since then. He was ready to wave goodbye to their mythical past in the West Wing, and Ainsley was glad for it.  
  
He didn't deserve to constantly worry about what Jed Bartlet would have done.  
  
He deserved to be remembered for who he was, not who he had helped, a decade ago.  
  
She hoped he would get the chance.  
  
**********  
  
2014, Sam's room  
  
As the noise increased, Ainsley came in and she took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.  
  
He smiled, and suddenly, there was no trace left of the self doubt he had been harboring a while before. He seemed confident, now, almost at peace, and when there was a knock on the door, he didn't hesitate to get it opened.  
  
Toby was on the other side, smiling broadly. "You're wanted in the room, Mister President," he said. "I think your opponent will call you soon."  
  
Sam nodded, said he was coming, and closed the door. He turned to her then, and said, "Well, let's go then."  
  
He took Ainsley's hand, and together, they walked out.  
  
**********  
  
It was only one hour later that they were finally able to talk to each other again.  
  
As soon as they had stepped into the room, Sam, then Ainsley, had been hugged by CJ, then Colleen, Jim and Peter, and finally Toby. The rest of the staff was clapping so hard that they couldn't have talked even if they had tried to. CJ had to scream that they had to go talk to the press.  
  
It's at that point that Colleen handed Sam a phone, and ushered him to a deserted hallway. The Secret Services, a constant presence since the convention, followed him and the rest of them waited there, not trying to speak in all the noise.  
  
When Sam came back, he and Ainsley went to the press and delivered a statement, then Ainsley left him to say the speech that Toby and him had crafted, that Jim made better and that Sam had rewritten again, a few hours earlier.  
  
When that had been done, everyone took turns to congratulate them again, and Sam insisted on thanking all the people who were there.  
  
Then President Hoynes called him, and Sam had a hard time not to laugh when an assistant handed him the phone as if she was handling a venomous snake. Sam found a quiet place, wondering what Hoynes wanted.  
  
"Mister President," he said.  
  
"President-elect," Hoynes answered.  
  
Sam refrained from asking him to call him Sam. He had to lose that habit anyway. "What can I do for you, sir?" he asked instead.  
  
"Nothing, I just wanted to congratulate you in person. I'm glad you're the one who won."  
  
"Me too," Sam joked, surprised to realize that he meant it. He wasn't so sure he wanted to win a few minutes ago, but now that all was done, he was left wondering how he would have taken it if he had lost. "How's the First Lady doing?"  
  
"Eager to get out of here, and of the public eye," Hoynes answered, a small tinge of regret in his voice. "We'll talk again during the transition, but I wanted to make sure that you weren't too..."  
  
"In over my head?" Sam smiled.  
  
"Something like that."  
  
"I will be once I realize," Sam responded, "but for now, I'm too pressured to think about the future."  
  
Hoynes had a quiet laugh, and added, "I'll let you go back to your party, then. Enjoy it."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Sam said.  
  
"We'll talk again soon," Hoynes assured him.  
  
After Hoynes, Sam also took a call from his parents, and from Ainsley's.  
  
They were finally able to get away from the chaos that the suite had become and to talk to each other.  
  
"You holding up?" Sam asked.  
  
"Great. You were incredible on the stage, by the way."  
  
"It was a good speech," he said, and there was a touch of sadness in his voice.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"It's just... When I thought that this day would come, I always envisioned Josh and Donna being there," he said.  
  
Donna hadn't been able to come, claiming that she was too overworked for that. Everyone had guessed that, as happy as she was for Sam, she too would have been thinking of Josh all day. She had called earlier, though, and Ainsley didn't doubt that she would call again, later in the day.  
  
"I know," she said soothingly. She knew how much Josh had been a part of Sam's life, even in the worst days, even when he was a jerk, even when the two friends weren't on speaking terms.  
  
"I miss them," he said.  
  
Ben.   
  
Josh.   
  
Leo and Jed Bartlet, who had both claimed to be too old to make the trip, but who, Ainsley suspected, were hiding that the MS was progressing, so they wouldn't spoil the day for them. There had been something in Abbey's voice the last time they had talked, a resignation, a sadness, that hadn't been there before.   
  
Maybe even the feeling of family all the staff had shared in the late 90's. It wouldn't be the same, this time. His friends would be at his service, and there would be new people to welcome, and learn to work with.   
  
He would be their boss, not their friend - not while he was in office.  
  
There was no way to know what the future was holding for them, Ainsley reflected.  
  
Curiously, it had never seemed quite so frightening before. 


	11. Chapter Four : Goodbyes Part 1

CHAPTER FOUR : GOODBYES  
  
PART ONE  
  
February 2023, The White House  
  
Sam was in the Oval Office, enjoying a few moments of quiet before returning to the wrap party, when his assistant poked his head through the door.  
  
"Sir, you have a phone call," he said.  
  
"Tell them to call back tomorrow," Sam groaned.  
  
It was their last night in the White House, he wanted to enjoy the party, and the bittersweet goodbyes shared by the staff. He wanted to get himself in condition to leave the next day - and maybe a good hangover would help the moment to pass.  
  
Of course, he couldn't get drunk off his ass here - not with all his staff watching, not while he was still, technically, the President. For a few more hours.  
  
Where had those eight years gone, he had wondered more than once since his successor had been elected.   
  
He wanted a few hours of quiet, he wanted to be left alone.  
  
His assistant insisted, "I would, but it's... er... President-elect Young."   
  
Oh.  
  
Well, he better take that then...  
  
As he had expected, Charlie began the conversation by making small talk.  
  
"How are you doing?" he asked sincerely.  
  
"I'm fine," Sam lied. Well, he'd survive. Survival was good. Simply, he was beginning to wonder if he had done some good, and the more people told him that it was normal to evaluate his two terms, to try to decide if he had done enough, the more he felt guilty for doing it.  
  
He had a gifted staff, he knew they hadn't let him look like an idiot, he knew that this was as much their job as it was his, and if he had been awful at the job, they would have said it. They spoke their minds, especially Toby and Colleen.  
  
"Okay," Charlie said, and Sam wondered, not for the first time, if the younger man was still considering himself as less worthy than the others were. They had known him when he was a twenty year old kid, who had to work to be able to go to college, and who didn't have their education. God knew he had filled that void by now - after all, he was the new President - yet Charlie always seemed self conscious around the lot of them.  
  
Sam knew why he had called - it was the same reason that had made him call President Bartlet eight years before, the day before his Inauguration, on the verge of a panic attack.  
  
Bartlet had told him afterwards that he wished he had been able to help more. There hadn't been much he could say to reassure Sam, just as Sam realized there wasn't that much he could do for Charlie.  
  
  
  
At least Charlie had him and Sam had had Bartlet to help him. Bartlet had been alone, with a staff he barely knew (and who were trying to get used to the fact that they'd won the election and were now working in the White House), and a predecessor who didn't take kindly to the fact that a Democrat had won.  
  
Maybe they had it easy after all.  
  
"What if I can't do it?" Charlie blurted out, bringing him back to the problem at hand.  
  
"Charlie, I've known you for how long now?"  
  
"Well, twenty-three years now, Mister President."  
  
"You'll do great," he stated. He had the feeling that it was going to take more than that to comfort the newly elected President, though.  
  
Charlie was completely frozen.  
  
Not that Sam was about to mock him for that - he still remembered the well intentioned teasing of his staff on the day he had been sworn in. He was sure he was going to die from the pressure and there they were, laughing. Well, not really, he guessed they were mostly trying to make him feel better, but their choice of method was a little questionable, to say the least.  
  
"What if..." Charlie didn't finish, but he didn't have to. "What if they don't like me?" he was about to ask. "What if they think I suck at my job? What if I make mistakes?"  
  
"Charlie, the best advice I was ever given was by President Bartlet, a few days after Alex was born. He told me that no parent was perfect, that I would make mistakes, and learn from them, and be better for them. He was right."  
  
"Sir, I'm not going to have a baby," Charlie squealed.  
  
Sam almost laughed. "I know, I'm just saying that the two are not too different. You have people to care for, and you have to do the best you can, and you have to learn to accept that you'll make mistakes."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Sam sighed. It mustn't have sounded reassuring, but it had to be said. He strongly suspected that each and every statesman was said that at least once - more if they were lucky.   
  
"Charlie, you'll have advisors, trusted ones, friends who will give you a piece of their mind when they think you screwed up, and believe me, the fact that you're the President won't stop them. And in the end, you'll have your greatest asset."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"Yourself. You're the one they elected," Sam said forcefully.  
  
"People don't always make the right choice, sir," he pointed out.  
  
"Okay, I can see you're being difficult on purpose," he sighed. "Let's put it another way: do you trust my judgement?"  
  
"Yes," he said, without hesitation, and it pleased Sam more than he'd care to explain.  
  
"Well, I voted for you."  
  
CJ came into the Oval, and smiled at him. "Charlie?" she mouthed.  
  
He nodded and she rolled her eyes, set a drink in front of him, then winked and left, as Sam settled for the next question Charlie would ask.  
  
**********  
  
2015, Inauguration day  
  
Sam had locked himself in the bedroom and was practicing his breathing. He was sure he was forgetting something.   
  
The speech? No, Toby was taking care of that.   
  
His glasses? No, Ainsley was taking care of that.   
  
His lucky watch? Check.  
  
And he was fully clothed. Pants, and everything.  
  
What the hell had he overlooked?  
  
Leo came in as he was beginning yet another inventory.   
  
"You okay, kid?" he asked before catching himself. "Sorry, I mean Mister President," he amended.  
  
"I'm going to be sick," Sam told him, evenly.  
  
His plaintive voice made Leo smile widely. "You'll do fine," he reassured, still smiling.   
  
"Very funny," Sam mumbled through clenched teeth.  
  
There was a knock and Toby poked his head in. "Feeling good?" he asked cheerfully.  
  
Leo snickered. "He's going to throw up on your shoes," he warned.  
  
No respect for the new leader of his country!  
  
And why the hell was Leo there anyway? If his only reason to be present was to make Sam miserable, he could go back to Boston, or New Hampshire, or wherever he had come from.  
  
"No he's not. He needs me to make sure he doesn't make an ass of himself in front of the whole - "  
  
"All right," Sam cut off, "get out."   
  
"Sam - " they tried to protest.  
  
"Out," he pleaded. "If you're just gonna make fun of me, I don't... I mean, there will be other times when you call laugh at me all you want, but right now, really..."  
  
The giant lump that had just taken residence in his throat prevented him from finishing, but they took the hint.  
  
Looking properly chastised, they sat on either side of him. "Should we hold hands?" Toby asked.  
  
Okay, maybe not * so * chastised, after all.  
  
"I wasn't this nervous on my wedding day," he complained. "I was cool on my wedding day. I was in control."  
  
"Really?" Ainsley asked from the doorway.  
  
Great, his loving, faithful wife was going to help him.  
  
"Then why did I hear Angela yell that if you even thought of approaching that window, she'd call the press to take pictures?"   
  
Or not.  
  
"Sam, face it, you're prone to - "  
  
Just then, his stomach rebelled violently and he tried to hide a grimace. She must have seen it because she turned serious suddenly.  
  
"Okay, leave us alone," she ordered to Leo and Toby.  
  
The two others gone, she kneeled in front of him. "I'm sorry, I thought you were just, you know, overreacting," she said gently.  
  
"Overreacting?" he squeaked. "Ains', I'm about to be sworn in."  
  
"I know."  
  
"As the President," he insisted, trying to make her see his point. "The President. Of the United States! What the hell was I thinking? And why did you let me do that?"  
  
"Oh, blame the woman, why don't you?"  
  
"It usually - "  
  
"- doesn't work," she laughed.  
  
"Seriously, how, how am I even going to... Can I do that?"  
  
"Yes," she stated.  
  
"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "What if I screw up? What if I declare war on someone, what if I can't make things better, what if I make them worse?"  
  
"Sam, you have it in you. What more can I do to... I know you're terrified, honey, and so am I, but you really, really can do it."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
She smiled and squeezed his hand. "I'll be here with you, we'll all be here with you. And hey, someone doesn't like the way you do it? They can kiss my ass, and take the job. See if they'll do better."  
  
He frowned, pondering the feasibility of her idea. That would have been great. Of course, given the amount of people who were unhappy with their government, the actual President wouldn't have the time to govern at all, but hey...  
  
"Not gonna happen," Ainsley said gently.  
  
"How do you know I - "  
  
"You're easily sidetracked. And you know there's absolutely no way this - "  
  
"Yes, yes, I know. Still, it would be an idea."  
  
There was a knock on the door and Colleen entered. "Sir, they're waiting for you," she said.  
  
He nodded jerkily. Ainsley took his hand, and guided him to the door. As they were about to leave, she kneeled and picked up something on the floor. "Your tie clip," she said.  
  
"I knew I was forgetting something," he said.  
  
The rest of the staff was waiting outside, they fell in step behind him as he made his way through the hallways. As they were approaching the doors, Sam told his staff to go take their seats.   
  
Toby lingered, waiting to give some last minute advise. "Do like usual. Breathe, don't mess up the order of the sheets, and try not to fall on anyone, or on your ass, or - "  
  
"Yes, I get it, Toby, thank you. Could I have a few words with my wife, now?"  
  
He smiled. "I'll be outside. I'll see you after. And Sam?"  
  
Sam turned to him. His former boss looked at him sternly. "Youdidgoodupuntilnowandyou'regonnabegoodatthistooandI'mproudofyou," Toby said.  
  
Sam frowned. "What?"  
  
"You heard me perfectly well, and I'm not going to repeat it for your amusement, so - "  
  
Sam smiled, more touched by Toby's mumbled words of praise than by anything his own father had ever told him. "Thanks Toby," he said, thinking of all the ways his boss had helped him through the years.   
  
The grumpy Toby Ziegler, who had seen a green writer and had reluctantly become a mentor to this kid, who had given him a chance to prove himself, to become good at writing, then better, always better.  
  
Toby, who had helped him to survive a nightmarish night in Rosslyn, the crumbling of all he had believed in, the loss of his son, the loss of a friend, and his parent's apparent indifference in the face of all he had accomplished.  
  
Sam didn't know how he would ever be able to repay his mentor, to thank him enough. Toby was looking at him, and he obviously got the message Sam didn't know how to put into words.  
  
He nodded, smiled briefly, spun on his heels and left, leaving Sam vaguely disoriented.  
  
"Sam?" Ainsley said.  
  
He nodded jerkily. "Yeah."  
  
"You okay?"  
  
He smiled, his nervousness gone. "Yeah. Thanks for... you know, before."  
  
"I'm here to do all the pep talk you want," she said, smiling in that annoying way she had when she was about to tease him. "But may I just say that I don't think a republican would be quite that nervous?"  
  
"Okay, let's go already," he snapped.  
  
Just as he began walking again, she grabbed his arm and whispered into his ear, "If you do good, there'll be sex this night. If you do great, there'll even be whipped cream, and cherries. And champagne. Get it?"   
  
He gulped and looked at her, noticing for the first time the way her dress clung to her body. "You're beautiful," he said.  
  
"Took you long enough to notice."   
  
"I've been preoccupied," he needlessly pointed out. "But I'll try to do more than great."  
  
"Oh, if you do more than great, we'll have to take extra measures," she said. "By the way, I'm wearing the purple underwear you like so much."  
  
And with that image in his head, he came on the outside and began waving when the crowd cheered.  
  
He didn't fall, he delivered the speech to Toby's satisfaction, smiled at the appropriate times, and mingled with the crowd.  
  
He did great.   
  
And Ainsley (God bless her soul, he thought) decided that he'd even done more than great.  
  
He still remembered that night quite vividly when she had a medical check-up two months later.  
  
**********  
  
2023  
  
"What are you going to do tomorrow?" Charlie asked, maybe to try and think about something else than his impending Inauguration.  
  
"Well, we're going to visit everyone we haven't seen in a while. Abbey, Alex, our families."  
  
"You'll begin in Manchester?" Charlie asked.  
  
"Yes. I don't know if she'll be there," Sam added. Zoey and Charlie had broken up before the end of the Bartlet administration, and after two years of "We'll never talk to each other again," they had decided to try to be friends. They were quite close now, and both happily married, Zoey with two kids, Charlie with four.  
  
"If she is, will you - ?"  
  
"Yeah, I'll tell her you say hi."  
  
"Who will you take with you?"  
  
"Anyone who wants to come," Sam replied. Which, he was sure, would be everyone. They would spend a week in Manchester, then go their separate ways, because they had lived with each other for eight years in a row, and they needed some space.  
  
Then they'd try to set up a yearly reunion.  
  
"I miss him," Charlie said.  
  
Sam didn't need to ask who he was talking about. Of all of them, Charlie had been the most affected by Jed's passing.  
  
"I miss him too," Sam said. "He would have been so proud of you. He always was."  
  
Charlie's voice was thick when he answered, "Thanks."  
  
They all missed him. Jed Bartlet, for all his flaws, had been a force to be reckoned with. He had been a father figure to all of them. It had hit them hard to learn that the MS was finally progressing. They had thought they were prepared to hear it, but they had been so busy with their own lives that they had put the issue on the side, until Abbey had called to tell them that Jed's health was deteriorating, that he refused medical assistance, that if they wanted to come, they should hurry.  
  
Ironically, Sam thought, the man who had been the focal point of all their lives for so long was dying as Ainsley and him were about to celebrate the arrival of a new child - as if life wanted to compensate the loss of a member of the family by the gift of another one.  
  
It hadn't made saying good-bye easier.  
  
**********  
  
2015  
  
Sam would always remember the day when Ainsley had come back from her doctor's appointment, two months after the Inauguration. She had had a check up that day. He hadn't thought of asking her how she was, he was too preoccupied with the day he had had, setting up briefing after briefing with the Joint Chiefs.  
  
He was reading a memo that night, and Ainsley had been trying to get his attention for several minutes now. Seeing that nothing worked, she adopted the blunt approach.  
  
"I'm pregnant," she said.   
  
He put down his memo and stared at her, speechless.   
  
Pregnant? That was... unexpected.  
  
She later told him that it had been fun to see him - powerful, the man who delivered speeches that made a crowd stand up, the man generals jumped to their feet for, being struck stupid by the news.  
  
"You're what?" he squeaked after a while.  
  
"Pregnant," she said patiently.  
  
He smiled then, slowly at first, then more convincingly.  
  
"The timing is terrible," she pointed out before he could speak.  
  
His smile grew even wider. "Yeah," he said distractedly. "Yeah. You're - "  
  
"Pregnant," she finished for him when he resorted to hand language.  
  
"Yeah. That's..." He looked for a word, but when nothing came, he just walked to her and kissed her. "We're gonna have a baby?" he asked when he pulled away for breath.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Great," he said, grabbing his phone and dialing CJ's number.  
  
Three days later, his ears were still ringing with the squeal CJ had made at the news.  
  
He hadn't been able to stop smiling yet, either. He was still smiling broadly when his assistant told him he had a phone call from Manchester. He had taken it, and Abbey's composed voice had greeted him.  
  
"Mister President, I have something to tell you," she had said, the seriousness of her voice erasing the smile on his face.  
  
Four days later, Sam and Ainsley were in Manchester, being hugged by Abbey, and squeezing the hand of Jed Bartlet, who was looking more through them than at them, and who insisted on calling Sam, Jack, after a former Congressman he had worked with twenty years earlier.  
  
They had stayed the night, and Jed had had a brief moment of lucidity, allowing them to say goodbye to the former President, to the man they knew, instead of the stranger who had greeted them the previous day.  
  
On the plane back to Washington, Sam had asked to be left alone, and when he had emerged, as the plane was nearing Washington, his eyes were bloodshot, his face was drawn, and he had gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Ainsley.  
  
CJ and Toby had gone to Manchester shortly after that, coming back depressed. He had been worse than with Sam and Ainsley, they had explained. He hadn't recognized them at all, and Sam knew that Toby, who had been hoping for a chance to thank Jed for all he had done, had been deeply hurt.   
  
Then Donna had gone, along with Charlie. Leo had temporarily moved to the farm. He's the one who called Sam, one week later, his voice shaking. "He's gone. He hadn't regained consciousness in the last two days. Last time we talked, it was maybe four days ago, he told me to tell you that he loved you all, and thanks for everything."  
  
Sam hadn't been able to say much more than a brief, "We'll be there for the funeral, and if you or Abbey and the girls need something, anything...Let us know, okay?"  
  
Then he had cried himself back to sleep, Ainsley's hand rubbing small circles on his back, like she always did when bad news came - the only thing that anchored him when he needed it.  
  
They had all gone to the funeral. It was raining, Leo was thin and looked even too fragile to be hugged. Abbey was calm - she had told them again and again that she had had years to prepare herself to that, but Ainsley had found her crying in the kitchen after the ceremony.  
  
"I didn't know what to say," she told Sam later. "What could I say?"  
  
"I don't know," he admitted. "I have no idea."  
  
He was tired of losing people he loved.  
  
It was at that point that he began to freak over Ainsley's pregnancy.  
  
**********  
  
2023  
  
"I'll let you go back to your party, Mister President," Charlie said.  
  
"It can wait, really," Sam said. He spent so much time reminiscing anyway - brooding, Ainsley sustained, it was brooding - that he didn't think many people would want to stay near him.  
  
"Yeah. I'll... thanks for your time."  
  
"Call me if you ever need anything," he said sincerely.  
  
"Thanks," Charlie said again, hanging up.  
  
Sam sighed, fearing he hadn't been able to do much to ease the younger man's worries.  
  
He could only hope he had done enough.  
  
He was rising up when his assistant called to him. "Sir? Your son on line three." 


	12. Chapter Four : Goodbyes Part 2

PART TWO  
  
2023  
  
Sam went back to the party, noting with amusement that Toby was dancing with Kathryn - or rather that he was carrying her while they pretended to dance. Seeing Ainsley smile as she spotted him, he made his way to her.  
  
"Alex called," he said. "He wanted to know how the party was going."  
  
"I wish he'd been able to come," she answered.  
  
"That's what I told him. He said to come visit him when we're done here."  
  
"How many people do we have to visit?" she asked teasingly, and he chuckled.  
  
"Well, Abbey in New Hampshire, Alex in Texas, your family in Carolina, my family in California, and who did I forget?"  
  
"The Secret Services are going to love that."  
  
He shrugged briefly. "Tomorrow, someone else will have a target on his back," he retorted, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice.   
  
They had gotten Charlie elected, but there was still an incredibly large number of people who didn't care for a black President. He hoped their friend would be able to govern anyway. He hoped he wouldn't spend his presidency dodging obstacles.  
  
Sam still remembered the discussion he'd had with Senator Young, four years before. Back then, his own Vice President had become a liability - he was running his own agenda, which Sam could have accepted, if it hadn't meant that he had gone on TV and overtly criticized his administration for its stance on the death penalty shortly before the beginning of the campaign. It had caused a major drop in their numbers, their opponents claiming that it didn't bode well for them if their own VP dissed them.  
  
Toby had exploded, and there had been lots of discussions between the staff, who wanted the VP dropped off the ticket, and Sam, who seriously wondered if they should fire him for stating his opinions.  
  
Toby had come into the Oval one night, after a day spent arguing, and had asked him why the hell he wanted so much to keep the VP at his side.  
  
"I'm not sure," he'd admitted. "I guess I'm trying to learn from past mistakes."  
  
"Bartlet and Hoynes," Toby guessed.  
  
"Bartlet who couldn't stand any criticism, always so sure he was right, and Hoynes... think whatever you want of him, but he was trying to do his job."  
  
"He was campaigning for himself."  
  
"We're all politicians, Toby. We're asking the VP to stay alive and shut the hell up for four to eight years, we only go to them when we need them. They're the ones with the rotten jobs, here."  
  
"Mister President, you're the one who always said that you didn't want to be remembered as Bartlet's heir. If you don't want to enjoy the good sides, at least don't make your life even more difficult by acting against what he did, okay?"  
  
"I, I don't know. Besides, if we drop him, who are we going to put in his place?" There had been something on Toby's face then, and he had understood. "You already thought of someone," he finished.  
  
Toby nodded, a smile in his eyes.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Charlie."  
  
Sam had stared, then smiled. Of course. Former assistant of the President, brilliant lawyer, now a senator. An influential one.  
  
"Think about it, sir. He could run in four years. And what's more, we could make sure he wins."  
  
Sam had thought.  
  
Toby was right, they could.  
  
Two days later, he was asking Charlie to come. Convincing him to become VP had been another story. Charlie didn't want to go down in history as the first black President, he had explained. He wanted to be judged by his merits alone, not by his skin, not even for that. He had a chance to make a difference in Senate, and no one would ever say, "He was the first black senator." - "And what did he do?" - "I have no idea."  
  
Sam had pleaded his case, knowing that Charlie, too, had known Hoynes, and had seen how easily you get stuck in a corner.  
  
Toby had done it again the next day. Then Colleen had gone see Charlie, to insist.  
  
"Are you going to bully me into doing it?" Charlie had asked, exasperated, as Sam was calling him again.  
  
"Yes," had been Sam's answer, short and to the point.   
  
Charlie had accepted two days after that.  
  
He was now the President. He was also terrified, as his earlier phone call had proved.  
  
"He'll be fine," Ainsley said, and Sam came back to the present, to the party.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Sam, he will."  
  
"Okay," he said, still worried. People had tried to kill Charlie already, because he was dating a white girl. Now, he had been elected at the highest office of the country, and Sam was wondering.   
  
Had he been right to push him?  
  
Had he been right to encourage him to take that risk?  
  
Ainsley's hand crept on his back. "Sam, the Secret Services will be here, and there were enough people in this country who voted for him to ensure that at least some of them were able to see the good he could do."  
  
He nodded, "I know. I know." Extending his hand, he quipped, "And tonight, we can party. Will the First Lady allow me this dance?"  
  
She laughed, putting her hand in his, and they walked onto the dance floor.  
  
**********  
  
After a few dances, Sam left the party again.  
  
He wanted to take a walk down the halls again.  
  
He lingered in the Communications bullpen, smiling at the thought of the number of times in the last years when he had gone into Toby's office to work on a speech he had to give, instead of having Toby come into his. He could then take the couch, his laptop on his knees, and pretend that nothing had changed.  
  
He shot a look into his old office, already empty. Jim had taken it when they had moved in. He had finished packing, contrary to most of the staff, who still had something in their offices - an excuse to come back.  
  
Then his steps led him to Josh's office - former office. The room had been occupied by Peter for eight years, and by strangers for the eight years prior to that.  
  
There was no sign of his friend left here, and yet Sam kept expecting to see him sneak up on him, a big smile on his face like that day in New York, calling him 'Mister President'.  
  
That was probably why Peter sneaking up behind him, calling him 'Mister President' freaked Sam out.  
  
"I'm sorry," Peter said, surprised to provoke such a reaction.  
  
Sam shrugged. "No need to. I was just reminiscing."  
  
Peter had a rueful smile. "I've always found it difficult, to be the substitute," he admitted, guessing who Sam was thinking about.   
  
Sam would have liked to protest, to tell him that he wasn't. He genuinely liked him, and he hoped he'd convince his Deputy Chief of Staff to call him 'Sam' when they would officially be out of office, but he was not Josh. And the only reason everyone liked him so much, even the old guard, was because he had never tried to be.   
  
"Not that anyone made it difficult for me to do my job," Peter added, "but you, and Toby and CJ tend to be pretty... I don't know, I guess you al fought a war we weren't part of."  
  
A war. Rosslyn, Leo's alcoholism, MS, congressional investigation.  
  
Not that Sam's two terms had been quiet, but what they had lived during the Bartlet administration was their trial by fire. It had created bonds that never disappeared.  
  
"It was different, Peter, but - " He was suddenly unsure of what to say. Damnit, it had been thirteen years, shouldn't it become easier already? "Well, you and Colleen and Jim, you all tend to hang out, and I'm almost sure you'll always gravitate around each other." He chuckled to try to lift his spirits "I think that if someone had told me I'd still be working with Toby after all these years, I'd have screamed and run away. Or died."  
  
Pete laughed with him, but there was something else in his laugh beside the obvious 'Toby's a bear' joke. Toby had acquired quite a reputation during the years. Most of the staff knew that he barked more often than he bit, but there were still people who were intimidated by him. Peter was one of those.   
  
He left Sam, maybe to let him say goodbye in peace, and Sam turned back, staring at the darkened office. Sometimes, he could swear he could hear his voice.   
  
"If I see the real thing in Nashua, should I come get you?"  
  
"Who's the idiot who set the Mural Room on fire? - That would be Sam you're talking about Mr. President."  
  
"Does she know who you are? - No, Josh, I didn't reveal my secret identity."  
  
He smiled. Josh had been born to live in politics. How great he would have been...  
  
How great he was until that damn phone call.  
  
An agent coughed discreetly and he turned to him. "Sir, there's someone for you in the Oval," he said.  
  
**********  
  
Sam smiled warmly at Donna, who was standing a few feet away from the desk.   
  
"Hey, how are you?" he asked cheerfully, hugging her.  
  
"Good, I'm good," she answered, hugging him back.   
  
"It's great to see you," he said, motioning for her to sit on the couch. "We all miss you."  
  
She smiled shyly, "Thank you, Mister President."  
  
He scowled at her. "Sam, please. I'm already out of here, remember?"  
  
"You will be tomorrow," she corrected. "I haven't had enough opportunities to call you Mister President."  
  
"Well, if you'd come to work for me," he said, only half joking.  
  
She squirmed a little, and he immediately felt bad for having brought it up. She had helped on the first campaign, all these years ago, making it clear that she wouldn't go back to the White House if Sam was elected. She had too many memories there, she had explained, and when the others had protested that they had, too, she had shrugged them away. "It's not the same," she had explained, and no one had dared to contest that.  
  
Back then, she had been led to work closely with an Illinois Senator, who had supported Sam almost from day one and had helped to raise funds a few times. Their calls hadn't stayed exclusively professional long, and at the end of the campaign, when Sam was trying to decide who would get which job, she had announced that she had dated the Senator several times already, that they appreciated each other, and that she would probably live in Washington to see him more often.  
  
Sam had offered her a job again, she had turned him down again, and left the campaign in its last days.  
  
She had dated the Senator for a few years, then broke up with him. They had got back together one year after that, broke up again, and the cycle had continued until now.  
  
No one had dared to ask Donna what that was about. They all suspected that she didn't want things to be serious between them. Sam wondered if it wasn't too late for that already.  
  
They didn't see her enough, he thought, seeing her in the dim light of the room, her hair still long and sunny, still slim, still beautiful. There had been phone calls, she had been invited to all the receptions they had given, had come to a few of them, but it wasn't enough.  
  
"I know," Donna was sighing now.  
  
Sam hurried to add, "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I just, * we * just miss you."  
  
"Yeah. I've been busy."  
  
That was no news. She was, after all, the chief of staff of a powerful Congressman.  
  
But the light in her eyes was long gone, and her mouth which had always seemed ready to smile, was now drawn.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asked again, and it didn't have the same sense this time. She understood, and smiled sadly.  
  
"Oh, you know... same old."  
  
"Donna, why don't you go ahead and marry him already?" he asked. "I'm sure he asked."  
  
"Several times," she confirmed.  
  
"Each time you broke up with him," Sam guessed.  
  
She blushed. "I don't... I'm not sure I'm ready."  
  
"Donna... Josh had a well proportioned ego. I'm sure that by now, he's aware that you miss him. There's really no need to..."  
  
He gestured vaguely and she laughed briefly. "Make him more important than he was?" she asked.  
  
"Something like that. God, he was my friend, and there are still days where I almost call him to ask him what he thinks of something I want to do, but Donna, thirteen years is enough to grieve someone."  
  
"I know. I'm not... He was a jerk, you know?"  
  
Sam laughed. "That's part of the reason I left this town in the first place," he admitted.  
  
"What about not giving him too much importance?" she asked.  
  
"Part of the reason," he repeated. "Seriously, I loved him, but I find the way people remember him a little, how shall I put it? Confusing. It's as if he was never a pain in their asses. Even congressmen who would have pushed him under a bus if it hadn't been illegal, now talk about him as if he was a saint. He was a jerk, self involved, arrogant, even after his self proclaimed epiphany."  
  
"Did that make you love him less?"  
  
"No. It made me question him. It made me wish he'd take his head out of his ass once in a while."  
  
She laughed. "Me too. I just, Sam, it's not just loyalty to him. I just... "  
  
She had been hurt when he had died, he knew. And he remembered the mix of elation and panic when Ainsley had told him she was pregnant again. On one hand, the joy of having someone else to love. On the other, fear that you're going to get involved, and that the person may die, leave you.  
  
"Sometimes, you just have to take chances," he said.  
  
"Easier said than done."  
  
"I know. Believe me, I know."  
  
She looked at him, gauging him, then nodded. "Kathryn," she said.  
  
"Yeah. Look, you'll never know if you don't say yes. At least once."  
  
"If he asks again," she said, looking miserable.  
  
"He waited this long. And hey, twenty-first century. You can ask him."  
  
"I'd never - "  
  
"You should."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"Whatever? I'm President, and you're giving me 'Whatever'?"  
  
She laughed, the sound filling the room. For once, Sam thought, it sounded actually cheerful.  
  
**********  
  
Sam spotted Peter as soon as he entered the room again. He was talking animatedly with Toby, resorting to hand language, like he often did when he was speaking on a subject he loved. Ainsley was dancing with Jim - who seemed incredibly ill-at-ease, no matter how many times they had done that exercise together. Sam could dance when it was needed, but he couldn't do it for too long - his leg was rebelling more often than it had in the past, probably an effect of the long hours, the stress, and the years adding up. Jim, who didn't step on Ainsley's toes as often as the rest of the staff, was often asked to volunteer to make the First Lady dance, and he had never seemed comfortable doing it, even though he was a good dancer.  
  
Sam motioned for Peter to come over, and the younger man asked immediately if Donna was around.  
  
"She'll come back in a minute," Sam said. "She's in the West Wing."  
  
Peter nodded, smiling softly. Donna was saying a last goodbye too. It seemed like the perfect night to do that.  
  
  
  
"Sometimes, I have the feeling that I heard so much about him, it's like I knew him," Peter said looking at Sam, not too sure where the line was, or even if there was a line.  
  
Sam walked to the bar and asked for a Jack Daniels, images of Josh in a yellow hip drawer flowing back. Peter had followed him, and he smiled to the younger man. "Then our job is done," he replied.  
  
Peter seemed a little surprised, then smiled too. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Go make my wife dance, before Jim has a heart attack, will you?" he ordered.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Sam sat down at a nearby table. Somehow, he found it comforting that Josh's shadow would go on haunting the West Wing for at least four more years. Charlie would not let him be forgotten, he was sure of that. Josh was the one who had brought him on board, and he had never forgotten that.   
  
He took a sip and the burn of the alcohol made him grimace slightly. Raising the glass, he whispered, "Shalom, my friend."   
  
No one heard him in the ambient noise, but he didn't think it mattered anyway. 


	13. Chapter Four : Goodbyes Part 3

PART THREE  
  
2023 - Two hours later  
  
Sam had isolated himself in the Oval again, not feeling like company. The staff had just begun to get loud, and he could feel the beginning of a headache creeping on him - too much alcohol, too much noise, too many sleepless nights.  
  
As he was beginning to wonder whether he should go back - it was his party too, after all - Toby stepped into the room, walking purposefully toward him, and Sam had a brief flash of their first days during the Bartlet administration, and how CJ wouldn't dare to walk on the carpet.   
  
"What are you doing?" Toby asked.   
  
"Thinking," Sam said.  
  
"About what?"  
  
Sam shrugged. "Ainsley on Capitol Beat."  
  
"She kicked your ass big time there," Toby smiled. It was still a running joke in Washington; how the President had met the First Lady on a debate where she had pureed him.  
  
"I could have countered her, she just didn't let me say a word," Sam defended, knowing that it was a lost cause anyway. He had had a chance to counter. He had screwed up anyway. He hadn't been prepared, he could admit that much now. He had gone there, arrogant, thinking that no republican could ever outdo him in a debate, and he'd been creamed.  
  
In the end, he didn't regret it.  
  
"Those were the days," Toby mused.  
  
Indeed. The president's admission that he'd concealed his illness, the hearings, the sleepless nights, the re-election... How had they even survived, Sam wondered.  
  
"Do you remember the day you and Josh set the mural room on fire, Mister President?" Toby asked mischievously, and Sam almost laughed. The look on the President's face when Josh accused him was something he'd never forget. The staff had never stopped teasing him about that, and the 'new ones' - Colleen, Peter, Jim and the assistants - had stared at CJ, open mouthed, when she had told them about that particular gaffe. It hadn't been his more embarrassing moment, that honor went to explaining to the President that, no, he hadn't paid to have sex with Laurie. It hadn't been Josh's either - the press conference won that claim.  
  
It had still been pretty embarrassing, to stand here in the Oval, and explain to Bartlet that he was the reason the President had had to stand on the balcony in his underwear.  
  
"I miss him," Sam said and Toby sighed, not asking who he was talking about.  
  
"Me too."  
  
Sam suddenly realized that Toby was still standing and motioned for him to sit on the couch, asking him if he wanted a drink.  
  
"I know someone who's not sleeping tonight," he said once they both had a glass to occupy their hands with.  
  
"Your mighty successor?"  
  
"God knows I didn't sleep the night before my Inauguration."  
  
"You didn't look tired to me. Just a little green around the edges."  
  
He was, on more than one level. "He called me. He's petrified."  
  
"Every President is, Sam, you know that. He'll be good."  
  
Sam nodded. He would. He was glad Charlie would be the one to take over this office tomorrow.  
  
"He'll have advisors. He knows we'll be here to help him if he needs us," Toby continued.  
  
Sam didn't answer to that. Toby would never really understand what it meant to be the President. You were the most staffed person in the world, and yet you were utterly alone when it came to making the big decisions. Even when all your advisors agreed on a course of action (and they so rarely did), you were the one who had to go through with it.   
  
Even when all your Joint Chiefs told you, "Yes, the best course of action is to send soldiers down there to free the hostages," you were the one who gave the final order. It was your name that was on the executive order, it was your name people said the next day, it was you who had to step upfront and say, "I made this decision, for better and for worse, and God help us all."  
  
He hadn't truly realized that when he was staffing Bartlet. He had known it, on a superficial level, like he had known that a father loved his children more than himself. He hadn't felt it, in his heart, in his gut, until Alex had been born, until he had been elected and he had had to send his troops into a hostile country for the good of the nation.  
  
Toby knew that, but he hadn't felt it. He hadn't spent nights tossing and turning and wondering if he would have blood on his hands the next morning.  
  
Toby wouldn't understand why Sam couldn't help Charlie, why their friend was on his own, and would be for the next four to eight years.  
  
He had been a great help, both politically and personally, but he wouldn't get it. He owed Toby a lot, Sam thought, swirling the amber alcohol in his glass, thinking back about the months following Bartlet's funeral.  
  
**********  
  
2015  
  
A few journalists had asked CJ, who was more confident than she had ever been in a press room, if the First Couple was scared to be expecting a child again, after having lost a baby.  
  
Sam could have sworn he saw the press secretary roll her eyes, and he was pretty sure she was going to say, "D'uh, yeah." She hadn't, of course. She had served the official story : the First Couple was overjoyed, was impatient, was prepared, was in control. Sam had admired her ability to lie.  
  
They were terrified. That they would lose the baby before he was to term. That they would lose the baby in an accident, from a sickness, from bad luck or because they would do something wrong.   
  
That God didn't want them to have another child and would strike again.  
  
Even after all these years, they missed their son. It hurt to think about him, and it hurt even more to play the 'what if' game.  
  
If he was still alive, he'd be six by now. He'd walk, they'd have conversations, they'd tell him to be careful when he crossed the street, they'd help him with his homework, they'd play football with him, maybe he'd want to be a doctor, or a sailor, or a teacher, or to play clarinet, or guitar, whatever.  
  
Would he still be alive if they had woken up sooner?  
  
Could they have done something more?  
  
Would Ben have gotten along with Alex?  
  
Would the two of them have been the cause of much havoc?  
  
All these questions kept turning in their minds, again and again, preventing them from enjoying Ainsley's pregnancy, from rejoicing that they were going to have another baby.  
  
After a few days of smiling in public and panicking in private, Sam called in the reinforcements - in this case, Abbey Bartlet. She was, and always had been, the mother of the gang, and he knew she'd go through the medical records of Ben and Ainsley, that she'd reassure, and that she'd tell the both of them that they were stupid for worrying so much.  
  
"You're stupid to worry so much," was indeed part of what she said during her visit. "You've got to relax, watch what you eat, rest and let nature do its work," was another.  
  
"Mister President, if you don't eat the salad I prepared, you're toast," also made it.  
  
"You're fine, the baby's fine. Be careful as any other pregnant woman would be, and everything will be okay," she admonished the day she left.   
  
Okay then.  
  
"And for God's sake, come visit me from time to time, it'll relieve Leo. He's there every week, and he isn't in any shape to travel that much."  
  
They all knew that, he was old, and tired, and claimed that he was more than ready to go see elsewhere if the grass was greener, to quote him.  
  
They weren't ready to see him go, though.  
  
Abbey left, and Ainsley and Sam were a little reassured. The baby was fine, and Abbey was right, being overly anxious wouldn't be good for him.  
  
They tried to relax, and not to think so much about what might have been.  
  
**********  
  
Three weeks after Abbey's departure, Sam's assistant told him that Toby wanted to see him.  
  
Sam sighed. It was nearly midnight, he had just had yet another tiresome meeting with his security detail, he wanted to go back to the Residence and steal a few hours of sleep. Toby wanting to talk at that late an hour could only mean they had a problem. Good news could always wait, Sam had discovered. Crises, not so much.  
  
He warily allowed Toby in, and noticed immediately that it wouldn't be a professional discussion.  
  
Toby had his hands deep in his pockets. He was staring at the carpet. He seemed not to be sure where to sit. And he began by saying hesitantly, "Sorry, Sam, I know it's late, it can wait if you're tired."  
  
It was one of the rules Sam had set up when they had taken office. "When you talk to the friend, you say Sam. When it's to the President, you say Sir." He had witnessed Leo, Jed's best friend, call him Mister President for years, no exceptions, and he was sure he wouldn't be able to stand that. Of course, 'the new ones' had never called him Sam since Election Night, and he hadn't really expected them to, but Toby, CJ and Donna had stuck to the rule easily, to his eternal relief.  
  
So it was going to be a Sam moment.   
  
Shrugging, he motioned for Toby to sit down, and asked him what he wanted to talk about.  
  
"You, Ainsley, the baby," Toby summarized.  
  
Oh.  
  
"I was thinking, and I suddenly, well it dawned on me that you had never talked about it with any of us. In hindsight, I'm afraid we didn't make it clear enough that we were there, if you wanted to talk."  
  
"Toby, you told me, time and again, that I could come to you. I knew it."  
  
"Yet you never came," Toby said.  
  
"Toby, I had more than enough therapy sessions with our counselor to get it off my chest. So did Ainsley. When we were done with therapy, all we wanted to do was never talk about it again. I didn't even know it was possible to feel that tired. There were days, when we were done, where I could barely drag myself upstairs to my room. Everyone kept telling us that everything was going to be all right, that time would heal, and we didn't want to hear it anymore - we knew, but God, if we had to hear it once more..." Sam trailed off, took a deep breath and went on, "Look, we talked about it, and back then, we didn't have the energy to go through it more than once. If we had had to begin to explain all that, I'm not sure I would have had enough energy left to do anything else."  
  
"And now?"  
  
"Now, we're fine."  
  
"Are you scared? Of what might happen?"  
  
Scared? Scared didn't even begin to cover it. Sam was petrified, he had insomnia, he woke up at night sometimes, after a dream that the birth had gone wrong, that the baby, or Ainsley, or both were dead, he kept thinking back about Ben's death, always wondering "Did we do something wrong?" The same question that had haunted him for years, except this time, he didn't ask it so he could have more munitions for the guilt trip, but he wondered in hope that he would find out what had gone wrong so he could prevent it this time around.  
  
Then, there were the nightmares about his accident, all these years ago, when he had been trapped in the car, unable to move, hearing Alex cry and unable to do anything to save his son.  
  
Alex had been fine, but he could easily have been hurt, and he could have needed his father, and he hadn't done anything.  
  
He spent so many nights hearing a baby cry, looking around to find it, looking in every room, in a haze, knowing that his son needed him. Sometimes, it was even worse. Sometimes, he saw him, bleeding on the floor, and he was unable to move. He was paralyzed, frozen on the spot, he couldn't stop the bleeding, he could just watch, and scream for help.  
  
That's usually when Ainsley shook him hard enough to wake him up, and he opened his eyes to realize that he was in the Residence, that he had screamed and that one of his agents had opened the door to make sure he was fine, that Alex was fine, and that in a few months, he'd be a father again.  
  
"Are you scared?" Toby asked.   
  
"Yeah, a little," Sam admitted.  
  
Toby rolled his eyes. "Like Ainsley's 'a little' pregnant?" he smiled.  
  
"Pretty much, yes. I just... I'm not sure I'd be able to survive that again."  
  
His voice caught, and his eyes were beginning to burn. He got up and refilled his glass, peripherally aware that Toby was looking at him, worried.  
  
"You won't have to go through that again," Toby said.  
  
Sam smiled a little, and came back to sit in front of his former boss. "Thanks for the effort, but there's no way you can be sure of that. We'll just have to take things as they come, but that doesn't make them less frightening."  
  
"I know. I wish..."  
  
He wished he could do more, but Sam knew that.  
  
His friends had done enough, already, but the way to convince them of that...  
  
"Sam, seriously, you know you can..."  
  
"Talk to you?" Sam asked, with a small smile.  
  
He shrugged, and said gruffly, "Well, we do need you focussed on the job, so..."  
  
Sam nodded seriously. "And that is, of course, the only reason you're asking."  
  
"Of course," Toby answered. Sam almost believed him. Would have believed him, without the concern still visible in his eyes.  
  
Sam bit his lip, still stalling.  
  
He hadn't told everything to the therapist - or to Ainsley, who didn't need to know that.  
  
The worst part of that night, the one that still haunted him, was how his son had felt his arms, when he had lifted him from the crib - the immobility, so absolute that he knew, without a doubt, that there was nothing to do.  
  
And then the cold skin, the lack of reaction as he breathed air into his lungs, that panic because he didn't want to survive his child, because he didn't think he would be able to.  
  
He was certain that he would go insane if he had to go through that again.   
  
Sometimes, he felt that he was going insane just thinking about it. That was usually before the memory of this night sent him in a run to the bathroom.  
  
Sam swallowed convulsively, then looked up to see Toby. "I'm not sure I'll be able to..." He trailed off, shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded.  
  
Toby looked ten times more concerned now. "Well, you're going to make an effort, because I seriously think it's imperative you talk about it before you explode."  
  
Sam could only agree. The nightmares were becoming more intense, and he feared Ainsley was beginning to suspect that he had hidden things from her.  
  
Feeling slightly light headed, like he always did when he thought about his son, Sam began to talk.  
  
**********  
  
2023  
  
"Sam?"  
  
He startled, shaken from his reverie. "Yeah?"  
  
"You okay?"  
  
He smiled. "Thinking. About that night. When you third degreed me."  
  
Toby nodded, his countenance serious. "You scared me that night," he admitted.  
  
Sam looked up, surprised at the admission. "I did?"  
  
Toby sighed. "You looked, I don't know, so... devastated. Almost as much as you had immediately after... after."  
  
"I thought I had put that behind me," he explained. "Imagine my surprise, when it resurfaced."  
  
"You shouldn't have tried to deal with that on your own."  
  
"Yeah, you've already pointed that out."  
  
"It bears repeating," Toby said.  
  
Sam nodded. He knew keeping all that to himself had been stupid. In his defense, he had thought he was better, until he had to deal with the prospect of having another child.  
  
"I still - " His voice caught, and he swallowed. "Miss him," he finished resolutely. "I still miss him. I still, you know, wonder what he would have become. Who he would have become."  
  
Toby was looking at him, sympathy written all over his features.  
  
Sam shook his head, as if trying to physically dislodge his grief. "Anyway," he said.  
  
"Okay. We should go back to the party," Toby said, not making a move.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"They'll wonder where we are."  
  
"I think they know already," Sam corrected. "They know I always come here to think tonight."  
  
"Fine, then they'll miss me," Toby shrugged.  
  
"Go ahead, I'll join you soon," Sam said, "I'll just finish my drink first."  
  
He also wanted to find a way to thank Toby.  
  
His friend and himself were often a little self conscious when it came to talking about their relationship, and he didn't think he had ever managed to tell him how grateful he was for all his help.  
  
Not for the first time, Sam thought about what Toby could have done, instead of helping him to not look like an idiot. He could have retired long ago. He could have found another job - with a better pay, and less hours. He could have written books, and the amount of experience he had amassed would have made them sheer treasures. Instead, he had stayed with him, he had helped him govern past the paralyzing fear of the first few days, when he needed to hear people repeat several times that yes, what they were proposing was the best possible course of action, before signing a paper, when he wondered what Bartlet or Hoynes would have made, had they been in his shoes.  
  
Toby had finally had enough.  
  
"Damn it, Mister President, you're the first one who said that you didn't want to be dependant of Bartlet's memories, when are you going to speak for yourself?"  
  
This was an argument they'd have quite a few times over the years.   
  
"Toby - "  
  
"No, I'm sorry, but I want to know."  
  
Well, he didn't want to be the second Bartlet, that much was true.   
  
He also wanted to benefit from whatever Bartlet had learned there. Maybe it would help him to gain some time.  
  
It was Toby who pointed out to him that Bartlet had left eight years ago, that the world had changed, that their country had changed, that what he had to do was to take that fact into consideration, and that if he didn't follow his own mind, Toby would kill him.   
  
"No offence," he added.  
  
Sam would have taken it the wrong way (it was surprising how fast you got used to people treating you with deference. He had had a foretaste of this while being Governor, but here, that was a whole new level), but he had other things on his mind.  
  
Ainsley was nearing the ninth month back then.  
  
So he put what Toby had said in a corner of his mind, to think about it from time to time, and he focussed on his wife.   
  
**********  
  
2015  
  
The labor began during the night, so Sam could at least be there. Not than men were useful in times like these, unless they were doctors, he thought. It was the helplessness. The inability to help. Or the fact that they have to handle the pain and that you knew that if you were her, you'd be shouting for someone to kill you already.  
  
Whatever the reason, Sam became deeply conscious of his helplessness when Ainsley woke him at 2 A.M., and told him her waters had broken. Sam did what he knew any self respecting man would have done. He held her hands and screamed for help.  
  
Thank God for the secret services, he thought. And for Gina, who had made her way to the head of his detail, and took one look at the scene, thinking "If only I wasn't a professional, I could sell pictures to the press" - he could tell because it was written all over her face.  
  
Ainsley laughed when the contraction stopped.  
  
"Honey, you're gonna have to do better than that, if you want the hospital personnel to say that you were brave."  
  
The hospital personnel were probably the * last * thing on Sam's mind just then. Except that they would be able to help.   
  
Help.  
  
They had to get there, and they would know what to do.   
  
Yeah, that was a great plan.  
  
Sam had been through that twice already, and he really thought it would be easier this time - a 'practice makes you better' kind of thing. It wasn't so. And the labor went on for hours, just like when Alex had been born.  
  
He never said so to Ainsley, but deep down, he took it as a good sign. Ben's birth had been quick - four hours - but after what had happened to him, maybe it was a good thing that this time, it was different.  
  
It was stupid superstition, he knew, but how do you stop the thoughts that came so naturally to mind?  
  
The secret services blocked the entire floor for them, and Sam alternated between pacing in the hall, drinking coffee, and holding Ainsley's hand, letting her insult him all she wanted.  
  
Eight hours after their rushed departure from the White House, the doctor decided that he had to do a C section. In no time, Sam was lead to a waiting room, Ainsley having disappeared around a corner. He was trying to hold on to his calm, trying not to call Toby and have a panic attack on the phone. Trying to tell himself that Ainsley wasn't thirty anymore and that a C section was not an unusual procedure.  
  
Trying to tell himself that everything was going to be just fine.  
  
As he was about to go kill someone, a nurse entered the room, smiling. "They're both fine."  
  
Sam felt his knees go weak, and forced himself to remain upright.  
  
"If you'll follow me, I'll show you your daughter, sir."  
  
"Ainsley?"  
  
"She's resting. You'll see her in a few moments."  
  
Sam was led into a room, a nurse put the baby in his arms and retreated to a corner of the room, obviously waiting in case there was a problem and wanting to let him see his daughter alone.  
  
He blinked back tears, smiled at the baby, and whispered softly at her - he didn't remember what he had said, he was sure it wasn't coherent anyway.  
  
Two hours later, a grinning CJ was making her way onto the podium of the White House press room, announcing the press corps that Kathryn Eleanor Seaborn had been born on October the 5th, 2015, that the mother and the child were fine, and that the President would allow pictures in a few days, and would make a statement when he got back at the White House.  
  
Sam and Ainsley, in her room, were too busy watching their baby to notice.  
  
**********  
  
2023  
  
Sam checked his watch, surprised to discover that he had spent a good fifteen minutes staring off in space, recalling Kate's first few moments. There had been hard times - they knew she would be the last child they would have, they were terrified that something would happen to her and they admitted easily that they were overprotective parents.  
  
They reduced to the minimum her public appearances, preferring to keep her in the Residence, where the Secret Services' surveillance was virtually flawless. Ainsley spent the first two months not sleeping, checking on Kathryn every few minutes, until the day she almost collapsed during a State dinner. Then Kate began to toddle, and Sam redefined the words 'baby proof'.  
  
Thankfully, they had enough friends to warn them not to overdo it, to remind them that no good would come of preventing her from making her own discoveries, and her own mistakes.  
  
Shortly after that, Alex took their minds off Kathryn by deciding to join the Naval Academy after high school - what had first been an hesitant project had turned into a clear ambition, and after a few heated fights, Sam had decided that he would only alienate his son if he pressured him into giving up. He caved in, deciding that Alex was the only one who knew what he wanted to do.  
  
Alex was now happy in the Academy. He was doing his classes, he hoped to become an officer. Sam, who had had to send troops into battle, who had sometimes heard the radio communications of a crashing helicopter, or of a drowning warship, knew that he would have trouble sleeping for some time, but he had come to accept Alex's decision. If his son thought he could make a difference that way, he wasn't the one who would argue him out of it.  
  
Ainsley might, though.  
  
She was also probably waiting for him right now, wondering where he had gone.  
  
Testing his leg carefully, he decided that it could take some more dancing.  
  
Yes, going back to the party sounded good.  
  
**********  
  
He hadn't gotten very far when Jim hesitantly asked for a few minutes of his time.  
  
"Hum, Mister President?" he asked, shuffling his feet.  
  
"Yes?"   
  
"I, hum, I'd like to, I mean, do you have - "  
  
"What do you want to talk about?" Sam pressed on. He loved Jim dearly, but the man could be so intimidated sometimes (by Sam, by Toby, by the congressmen he had to meet) that if you didn't push, you were in for hours of hesitations.  
  
To his credit, though, the young man never failed to answer a direct inquiry.  
  
"Well, perhaps in private?" he asked. Sam rolled his eyes (what could be so secret, a few hours before the official end of the administration?) but he motioned Jim back to the Oval, entering behind him and closing the door himself.  
  
"I just wanted...," Jim said, still stalling.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, there's something... I, hum, won't pretend to understand the relationship you have with Toby," he said.  
  
" * I * don't understand the relationship I have with Toby," Sam replied  
  
Jim smiled nervously.  
  
"I know. I think there's something you need to know, but I may be wrong, and if I am, he'll kill me, so - "  
  
"Jim, did it occur to you that for now, I have far more power than Toby has?"  
  
"Yes, sir, but with all due respect, come tomorrow, you won't be able to help me anymore," he pointed out.  
  
True enough, Sam thought. "Fine, but... Look, what is it?" He was beginning to sound worried, and Jim picked up on that.  
  
"I, hum, well, he was offered... The DNC tried to convince him to run for Mayor, sir. In New York. It was just before you accepted to... you know."  
  
To run for President.  
  
So when Sam decided to run, Toby let go of a seat in... to...  
  
"I'm going to kill him," Sam growled  
  
"Sir, I didn't tell you so - " Jim tried to put in, worried.  
  
"I know, but still..."  
  
Still, Toby should have said something.  
  
He should have given Sam the chance to fire his ass and make something...  
  
He should just have said something.  
  
And how many times had they had this conversation in the past?  
  
Sam waved Jim away, and tried not to smile when he looked at him worriedly, obviously fighting the urge to tell him to go easy on his boss. For all of Toby's growling, he tended to raise his deputies' instincts of protection, Sam could testify of the fact.  
  
And now, he needed to find Toby, and kick his ass.   
  
**********  
  
"The Party offered you the chance to run for Mayor?" he said as soon as he spotted his friend, lurking near his old office.  
  
Toby looked taken aback, then shrugged. "Yes."  
  
Leave it to Toby to give non committal answers at times like these.  
  
"I didn't... I had no idea... Toby, Why? Why didn't you - "  
  
Jump on the chance?  
  
Tell me what you had given up to help me not look like an idiot?  
  
Tell me?  
  
"I'm not that kind of man, Sam. You, President Bartlet, Charlie, you have that. I'm the one... I'm like Leo, and Josh, and Colleen. We're better, you know, behind the scenes."  
  
He seemed depressed and Sam frowned a little. Could it be that Toby regretted that?  
  
"Hey, that's a * good * thing," he offered. "If it weren't for people like you, we wouldn't have done half what we wanted."  
  
"Sam, you didn't do half what you wanted," Toby pointed out.   
  
It was both true and false.  
  
And it really wasn't the point.  
  
"Do you think I really expected to?" Sam asked. "Toby, I know there are some things that are impossible to accomplish in eight years. But you know what? I'm not ashamed of the shape we leave the country in." And he really wasn't. It had been his greatest fear, but all in all, they had done * some * good, and yes it could have been more, but can't it always? They were not at war, there were less people living in poverty than before - not many, not nearly enough, but still less - and the American people seemed to reconsider the wisdom of killing off his criminals. If only they'd been able to do something more about weapons...   
  
But now wasn't the time to dwell on what could have been.  
  
"And we leave the country in good hands," Sam added, and to him that was important too.  
  
"Yeah," Toby didn't sound convinced.  
  
"Toby, you wrote me," Sam insisted.  
  
"It was you."  
  
"Not all of it. It was your perspective, your input that prevented me from blowing it. And it was you who helped me to get rid of the shadow of Jed Bartlet. And when I began thinking like an arrogant son of a bitch, you're the one who gathered the courage to tell me what was what."  
  
Sam hadn't talked to his mentor for a week after that, so angry at having been told he had become what he had sworn himself he would never be - a second Jed Bartlet. Then Ainsley had come back from her trip, she had shaken some sense into him, and Sam had humbly apologized.  
  
Toby had kept him honest.  
  
He had kept him thriving to do better, always better, from the day they had met to this night.  
  
He deserved more recognition than he would get.  
  
"You should have told me," Sam said.  
  
Toby raised an eyebrow, probably thinking of all the arguments they had had that began with that same sentence and ended in frustrating shouting matches.  
  
"You had enough to think about."  
  
"Yes, and damn it, Toby - " he tried to say.  
  
"Sam, I know you appreciated what I had to offer anyway. You're thinking that it would have made you easier on me if you had known, aren't you?"  
  
He hesitated, then nodded. For all the arguments they'd had during Bartlet's administration, there had been three during his own, and some of them pretty ugly. He had said things he regretted, and now he learned that Toby could have been far away, doing things for himself, for once. "Yeah."  
  
"It's exactly why I didn't tell you," Toby said. "I wanted you focussed, I wanted you to fight me, and you wouldn't have done that if you had known. You would have spent your time berating yourself for taking me away from that, and Sam, we had only eight years to, you know..."  
  
"Change the world?" Sam smiled.  
  
"Yes, we couldn't afford to lose some of that time to your feelings of inadequacy. You did a great job, I'm not saying it enough, but - "  
  
"I had great advisors," Sam cut off. "And you won't stop me from wondering where I would be without them."  
  
"Oh, I know that," he said in a long suffering tone, and they shared a quiet laugh. "How do you feel?" Toby asked then.  
  
"Fine," Sam shrugged. At Toby's glare, he amended "Weird. On one hand, I'll finally be able to sleep a little, and not constantly worry that someone's going to kill me or my family, or that terrorists will strike, or whatever. And I'll get to see Kathryn grow up. On the other, I'm gonna miss this place."  
  
He nodded, and Sam knew he understood. Toby had spent sixteen years in these walls, Sam suddenly realized. It was completely insane.  
  
"I'll let you say goodbye to all this," Sam gestured to the whole West Wing. "I'll go do the same with the Oval."  
  
Toby nodded, and the two men went their separate ways to perform their own little parting ceremony. 


	14. Chapter Four : Goodbyes Part 4

PART FOUR  
  
2023  
  
It was probably the last time he would walk into this office, Sam thought. He'd rather not come back, now that it was over. He just wanted to say goodbye and go away.   
  
He looked at the room, still remembering the first time he came in there as Bartlet's speechwriter. God they were young. He had spent so much time staring around him that he hadn't even heard what the President had told him, and after a while, Bartlet had asked "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" He didn't think he'd ever blushed that much before, it had actually hurt. Leo had rolled his eyes, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Why the hell did we hire them?", and the President, who must have taken pity on him, had proceeded to tell him about CJ's first appearance in the Oval.   
  
The first time he had come in there as a President was after the Inauguration, and he had had lots of fun seeing Colleen, Peter and Jim squirm when they entered it the first time. Too bad all the others had already been there, that would have been entertaining to watch, he had thought.  
  
It had been less funny to think that he would be the one sitting behind that desk now. His resignation had seemed so far away then. There had been so many victories, and losses, since then. It seemed so ridiculous that he'd actually been elected President.   
  
You think you're ready for that, but you're not, Sam had found out. When they called the election in your favor, you smiled, waved, and began praying not to make any major mistake.  
  
  
  
He was closing in to the desk when he noticed the bag sitting on it. Packs rarely appeared on his desk, they had usually been searched before. Deciding to trust the Secret Services (if the pack was there, surely it was safe), he opened it and was startled at what he saw.  
  
Well, that was... something else.  
  
He hadn't been expecting coconut oil.  
  
He spun on his heels and sure enough, CJ was there, still taller than him, smiling in the darkened office.  
  
"Thanks for saving my life," she said, not letting him speak first.  
  
"We did that already," he pointed out.  
  
"No we didn't. I said it wasn't important, I said I didn't owe you, but I did, and I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you."  
  
"Do you seriously think you needed to say it?" he asked. "I'm just, I'm glad we didn't lose anyone that night. I'm glad we didn't lose you. And for God's sake, you said thanks already."  
  
"It bears repeating."  
  
"If you say so," he conceded, because he could recognize an argument he wasn't going to win. "But not too often, okay?"  
  
She laughed quietly and added, "Seriously Sam, I would have missed all that if you hadn't been there and I'm glad I was along for the ride."  
  
"Even in bad times?" Sam asked.  
  
Josh's funeral in 2011.   
  
Jed's funeral in 2015.  
  
Ben.  
  
And then, there had been Leo's funeral just two years ago, from a heart attack - unexpected, brutal. Quick and painless, the doctor had said. "Not for us," Ainsley had muttered. She'd always remember Leo as the one who hadn't minded her being a Republican first. Sam had followed suit, of course, but Leo had been the one to welcome her, to teach her that duty meant more than partisanship, to help her adjust.  
  
Too many losses, too many great men gone.  
  
"What is family for?" CJ asked rhetorically. "And hey, cheer up, there were good times too."  
  
Kate.   
  
Jim meeting his kindred soul, Ethan. The two had received trucks of death threats without flinching, with their chins up and the conviction that they were in love, and that it was more important than the rest.   
  
Donna and Bill.   
  
"Yeah. I'm just - " Deep down in the process of cutting all ties to this place, he wanted to say, but he didn't have to. He merely gestured, knowing that CJ would understand, and she nodded.   
  
"Sure. I'm going to say goodbye to mine too. Eventually."  
  
They shared a smile and she walked to him, hugging him tightly, like she had done so many times before, both in times of joy and of grieving.  
  
Which one was it this time, Sam wondered.   
  
Kissing him on the cheek, she left him alone.  
  
She was dying to call him Spanky, he could tell. It wouldn't last much longer. He was ready to bet that as soon as Charlie had been sworn in, she would cave in.  
  
He couldn't wait for it.  
  
**********  
  
Half an hour later, Sam was reasonably sure he was done.  
  
He left the room, not looking back.  
  
Coming back to the party room proved longer than he had thought, though. Every single member of the staff he passed by seemed to want to tell him something, obviously aware that he would soon go back to the Residence with the family - Ainsley, Kate, senior staff - and that it would likely be their last chance to share a few words with him.  
  
When he finally reached the room, he saw Colleen sitting at the bar, on her own, and he made a sign to Ainsley to tell her that he would be there any time now before taking a seat across his Chief of Staff. She seemed a bit sad right now, and Sam supposed that this was as good a time as any to have the talk with her. After all, she'd begin another high pressure job tomorrow morning, and God knew when they'd be able to talk again.  
  
"So it's over," she said as soon as he had sat. "I can't believe it's been all this time."  
  
He smiled, willing to let her talk about the past for now. "Somehow, I think you always saw me as the guy who appeared at your doorstep back in 2002, with no idea what he'd gotten himself into."  
  
"You looked positively petrified," she laughed.  
  
"I was. I really was. And you can't laugh at me yet, I'm still in office."  
  
She winked at that. "Sorry, Mister President."   
  
"I may have been a little pale," Sam allowed, "but you should have seen your face when I offered you the job of chief of staff."  
  
She gulped. "That bad?"  
  
"Worse. You looked this close to hyperventilating."  
  
"I was, I guess. It's just that..."  
  
"You had big shoes to fill?" Sam guessed.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"You did great," Sam said, because it needed to be said, and because in the shuffle of the last eight years, he didn't think he had spent half enough time telling his staff all the good he thought of them. "And you still have a lot of work to do. I know Charl - President-elect Young offered you a job."  
  
"He did," she sighed.  
  
"I don't have orders to give you anymore, but."  
  
"You think I should take it."  
  
"He'll do a great job," he said, his voice not leaving a single place for doubt. "But some people are not going to love him for a president. And some will attack him, and they won't all be republicans."   
  
A President was always under attack, he had discovered. There was always someone who didn't approve of what you tried to do, it was impossible to please everyone, but Sam suspected that in Charlie's case, it would be more than the frustration linked to the office.  
  
"You're the reason the Joint Chiefs gathered around me," he told Colleen. "You're the reason the catholic right didn't make a coup, and - "  
  
"And you think I'll be able to do the same for him?"  
  
She seemed doubtful. And tired, incredibly so.  
  
Yet he hadn't lied, she was the reason the Chiefs had accepted him. His first night in the Situation Room had been a nightmare. There had been a coup in a South American country with whom they had tense relationships, the embassy had to be evacuated, and Sam had no earthly idea whether he should send troops, at the risk of looking like an aggressor, knowing how fast the government of this country could make it look like an invasion, and wait and see, at the risk of intervening too late and lose some of the American personnel in the embassy.  
  
To top it off, the hard ass officers were looking at him like he was a newly discovered and particularly disgusting disease. Not that any of them was overtly disrespectful. They just made it clear that they tolerated him. Nothing more. For that reason only, Sam felt ready to do whatever they wanted to do.  
  
"You think you'll earn their respect that way, Mister President?" Colleen had asked. "By obeying them?"  
  
"What if they're right?"  
  
"What if they're not?" she had shot back. "Mister President, we have the time to at least make a few phone calls. We have contradictory reports about what's happening out there, we won't know for sure until a few hours. Take that time to think, and consider your options. Just because they all agree on a course of action doesn't mean they're right. Besides, they don't even all agree."  
  
"They don't?" Sam had asked, honestly surprised.  
  
"You only asked Admiral Chase, Sir. Yes, he speaks for them, but that doesn't mean that some of them aren't reluctant."  
  
He hadn't noticed.   
  
He didn't know what to do, so he did what he always did when in doubt. He followed Colleen's advise, he notified the Chiefs that they would wait, he thought, and waited for reports to come through. Which proved to be the right decision.   
  
It had taken months for Sam to be comfortable in the Sit Room (longer even than it had taken him to be at ease in the Oval), and Colleen had had to point out to him a few of the mistakes he made. She was more gifted than he was to deal with the military. He had always felt a slight inferiority complex in front of these people who had willingly chosen to serve their country and risk their lives for it.  
  
Once she had known that, Colleen had rolled her eyes. "Mister President, you've given up a well paid job to serve, you've done hours no one could dream of, at the detriment of your personal life sometimes, you walk surrounded by guards because people would love nothing more than to kill you - not you personally, but all you represent, and you think they're superior to you? They're different, sure, but surely not better."  
  
And now, she was faced with the opportunity of helping yet another President, and Sam knew that she was tempted, while fearing that she was too tired to do it well.  
  
"It's up to you, really," he told her. "But Colleen, I've known you for a long time now and you were born to do this job. You'll look for something to do."  
  
"I'm getting old, Mister President."  
  
"I know. That job seems to take all your energy, all your attention, all your everything, but at the end of a good day..."  
  
He trailed off dreamily, and she nodded. At the end of the good day, when you had managed to avoid a war, when you knew that your family could sleep safely, when you had helped a few people, there was nothing like it.  
  
She was getting old, yes - she had more ground experience than he had had when they had met, and she'd helped him every step of the way ever since, but he knew she still had it in her.  
  
"I'll help him," she finally said, "but I won't survive another term. I'll look for a successor, and I'll leave then. I've done enough."  
  
"You have," he agreed. "Do you have someone in mind?"  
  
She nodded toward Peter, and Sam smiled a little. "That's gonna be some battle," he warned her. "He'll tell you that he's going to write a book, that he deserves peace, that he has done enough."  
  
Of all the senior staff, Peter had lost the most in the last years - his personal problems culminating when the girl he had been engaged to dumped him because of the hours he did, and he had learned afterwards that she had been pregnant and had gone through an abortion without telling him anything. To make matters worse, the press had heard the story, and what had been a painful private matter had become a painful very public matter.  
  
He had stayed, and Sam was grateful for that. He often regretted not having the time to socialize with the rest of them, and had developed a pretty informal way of dealing with them to compensate, but he liked them, and had tried to keep an eye out on them.  
  
"He'll tell you he doesn't like it anymore," Sam went on, making it clear he wouldn't blame the younger man for thinking that.  
  
"He'll be wrong, and I'll prove it. He has it in him."  
  
She was right of course. Sam knew that after so many years in this world, you learned to recognize advisor's material when you saw it, the same way you recognized President material. They didn't know what it was, they couldn't name it, but when it was there, they saw it.  
  
Most of them would continue to work in the political arena, Jim as a spokesman for a lobby for gay rights and Peter as future chief of staff for the White House (if Colleen had said he would come around, then there was no questioning he would).  
  
CJ had been asked to teach what her years as a press secretary had taught her. After Sam's re-election, she had distanced herself from the press - she was tired, she had said. She needed to take it easy for a while. Her assistant had replaced her a little at first, then more and more often. CJ's role in the administration had changed, she had worked more from behind the scenes, but she had stayed, and Sam had been relieved that she hadn't left.   
  
Toby... Toby had no idea what he was going to do.  
  
All his life had been dedicated to writing, he didn't have any other asset, he had told Sam a few months earlier. The discussion had degenerated, Sam trying to convince his mentor that he could do everything he wanted, Toby drinking despondently.   
  
It had been the only time they had talked about it. As far as he knew, Toby still hadn't a clue about what he was going to do with his life now. He was just sure that he was done with politics.  
  
After all these years of getting the good people elected for the job, Sam could understand why his friend wanted out. He knew how grueling the fight was, and he was astonished that so many of them had stayed so long in their jobs.  
  
He was glad they had, though. He should tell them that, he thought. Before they went their separate ways, before they tried to pretend they didn't miss it.  
  
Apparently, CJ was going to make sure he did just that. "Mister President, a speech," she cried, and everyone turned to him and began to clap.  
  
Much as he didn't want the night to end, he knew it was time for him, Ainsley and Kate to go back to the Residence. He hoped the senior staff would follow them so they could enjoy some more time together.  
  
Sam rose to his feet, the cheering amplified and he smiled and waved at them to stay still. "Fine, fine, I'll say a few words," he laughed, his heart tightening a little when he saw that Toby, too, was applauding him, nodding softly when he saw Sam watching him.   
  
Smiling, he looked for Ainsley, who had come near him when he had gotten up, took her hand and made his way to the center of the room, ready to say goodbye. 


	15. Epilogue

EPILOGUE  
  
2023  
  
Still holding Ainsley's hand, Sam waited for the applause to die down so he wouldn't have to speak too loudly. They were all demanding a speech, and he smiled. "Okay, I'll just have to improvise, since Toby didn't write me anything."  
  
"That's the spirit," Colleen laughed.  
  
"If you'd let me say it..."  
  
"You're going to make this long, aren't you?" Ainsley teased.  
  
"Did you ask me to talk just so you could interrupt me?" he asked.  
  
The chorus of "Yes, sir" made him smile.  
  
Looking at them all, Ainsley, still beautiful after all the hardships; CJ, smiling and fingering her necklace; Toby, standing, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets; Colleen, thoughtful and reserved; Jim and Peter, looking like two kids about to make a prank, he tried to find an appropriate way to thank them all.   
  
For the help, the advice, the sleepless nights, the friendship and the love.  
  
For staying at his side when he screwed up.  
  
For forcing him to do his best, always his best.  
  
CJ caught his glance above the crowd.  
  
"We still have tonight," she mouthed, only now she was smiling.   
  
He nodded and began to speak to the rest of them, trying to find the right words to express his love.   
  
Hoping he conveyed it.  
  
**********  
  
15 hours later, Manchester  
  
"Sam, it's just a friendly chess game."  
  
"It's not. You're going to turn it into a competition, it's gonna get ugly - "  
  
"Why should it?" Toby smirked. "I'm gonna kick your ass anyway."  
  
"No, you're not. I don't even like chess, Toby."  
  
"I do. Stop whining, and sit down."  
  
Ainsley rolled her eyes, CJ clapped on Toby's shoulder, telling him to leave Sam alone already, and Jim took two pieces off the board, hiding them behind his back.  
  
"Right or left?" he asked, looking at Sam uncertainly. Everyone knew that if Sam decided to say no, it would be to Jim - the only one of them he could still bully, the only one of them who was still more frightened of Sam than he was of Toby - and for how long, they all wondered.  
  
They were in Manchester, where Abbey had welcomed them with open arms, as usual. In his room, Sam had found a chess board, with a note from Jed Bartlet, explaining that it was a belated gift for all the years of service, for the words he had given him, and for having been one of his better angels.  
  
Abbey had explained that he had meant to give it to him years ago, but had never found quite the right moment. He had prepared the note before his health had begun to deteriorate, and had asked Abbey to give it to him when he was out of office. "He'll have time, then," he had added.  
  
Sam didn't really like chess. On the other hand, this board was a link to his former boss, to a man he had both loved and loathed, often at the same time, and who had at the very least taught him to listen to his dreams, and to his advisors.  
  
"Right hand," he said finally.  
  
"You're white," Jim announced, putting the pieces back on the board.  
  
"They're gonna be a while," Ainsley said to CJ and Abbey. "How about we do some gossiping in the kitchen?"  
  
"Sure. I heard Donna finally accepted Bill's proposal?"  
  
"In the kitchen," Toby said, shooting them a dark glare.  
  
"What, we're bothering you?"  
  
"Yes. I wanna play."  
  
Sam smiled agreeably, sat in front of the board and said in his more challenging tone, "Well, let's start then."   
  
THE END  
  
Thanks for reading, and thanks a lot to everyone who reviewed!  
  
Don't hesitate to let me know what you think at lazy.gege@ibelgique.com 


End file.
